
LCfi/GC 

LPNDOVR 




■ 7W\ - i dest^ }* '- 



1 



' LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Oafujriijfjt Ifa. 

Shelf 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 






THE 


FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


1 Romance of tije Crusaties. 



MARGARET E. WINSLOW, 

K 

Author of “ Three Girls in Italy,” “ Roderick Granger,” “ The Y’s, 

AND THEIR WORK,” “RESCUED FROM THE STREET,” “WEST 

Beach Boys,” “Michal Ellis’s Text,” etc, 



OF CO/v GWN 

f copyr/ght-%0 

APR 10 1889 

}q Cl 4 
Ashing t6** 


PHILADl 


iia : 


PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION 
AND SABBATH-SCHOOL WORK, 

1334 CHESTNUT STREET. 


COPYRIGHT, 1889, BY 


THE TRUSTEES OF THE 

PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION 
AND SABBATH-SCHOOL WORK. 


ALL BIGHTS RESERVED. 


*f 6 (o 4 




Westcott & Thomson, 
Stereotypers and Electrotypers , Pkilada, 


PREFACE. 


I have long wished that some great novelist would 
take up the subject of the Children’s Crusade, with all 
that it offers of national and historic interest. There 
are connected with its details points of deep pathos and 
accessories of mediaeval manners and customs which 
might profitably employ the researches of a student and 
give fair scope to the most brilliantly descriptive pen. 

This strange episode, attested by chroniclers enough 
to establish its veracity, is of itself a mediaeval poem, 
and needs only a metrical dress to place it by the side 
of any epic in our language. While waiting for the 
great novelist or the greater poet to arise and do justice 
to the subject, a chance meeting with the Rev. George 
Zabriskie Gray’s charming little history of the Chil- 
dren’s Crusade has put it in the power of a humble 
writer who claims to be neither novelist nor poet to 
write a story whose plot and characters are all more or 
less mingled with this sad yet romantic event. 

The work referred to, while obviating the necessity 
of researches into ancient chronicles and monkish 


3 


4 


PREFACE 


Latin, offered, at the same time, so tempting a frame- 
work on which to hang a romance that perhaps its 
details have been availed of more largely than is quite 
consistent with pure originality. The consoling thought 
is that a fault confessed is with generous minds a fault 
forgiven, and that there are those among our reading 
public who prefer to gain their historical knowledge 
through the medium of a story of never so inferior 
merit. 

If in the minds of such readers there shall arise, on 
the perusal of these pages, a little of that crusading 
spirit which, while its misdirected zeal degenerated into 
fanaticism, yet spiritualized the sensualism of the Mid- 
dle Ages, it may serve somewhat to check the growing 
materialism of the nineteenth century, and thus the 
publication of another story of the little crusaders be 
not in vain. I believe every point of historical data 
to be correct, so far as accuracy is attainable through 
the crooked mazes of mediaeval lore, except that, in 
order to bring the events within the compass of my 
story, I have thrown the successful expedition of the 
emperor Frederic some few years backward upon the 
historic page, copying in this respect the great Sir 
Walter and many other illustrious examples. 

If there are those who find the thoughts and expres- 
sions of my characters too old for such mere children, 
I beg them to remember the exceptional nature of the 


PREFACE. 


5 


circumstances in which these children were placed. And 
to those who object to the evangelical views of Pere 
Ignatius and Antoine, expressed in such an age of 
superstition and darkness, I would quote the words of 
Raymond Lully, stoned to death some years later : 
“ Whoever would gain thee, O Lord, need not with- 
draw from his own country nor from his friends 
and relations, for he can find thee near at hand. . . . 
We see how pilgrims set out to seek thee in distant 
lands, and thou art so near that whoever will can find 
thee in his own house — yea, in his own chamber. . . . 
If, therefore, the pilgrims wish to find thee, they must not 
seek in the beautiful images and paintings of churches, 
but in the hearts of holy men, wherein thou dwellest 
day and night. The Holy Land can be won in no 
other way than as thou, O Lord Jesus Christ, and thy 
apostles won it — by love, by prayers, by the shedding 
of tears and of blood.” 


Brooklyn, 1889. 



CONTENTS. 


CHRONICLE I. 

PAGE 

Introductory 11 

BOOK I. 

THE MOTHER'S TALE. 

CHAPTER I. 

The Uprising 17 

CHAPTER II. 

Nannette and Pere Ignatius 23 

CHAPTER III. 

Dedication and Departure 35 

BOOK II. 

THE PRECIOUS LETTER. 

CHAPTER I. 

Retrospect 53 

CHAPTER II. 

Bernhard the German 67 

7 


8 


CONTENTS . 


CHAPTER III. 

PAGE 

The Muster at Vend6me . . * 76 

CHAPTER IV. 

Arrivals 

CHAPTER V. 

On the Road 90 

CHAPTER YI. 

Nannette Reaches Jerusalem 100 

BOOK III. 

AMALIE'S UNCOMPLETED CHRONICLE. 

CHAPTER I. 

Birthday Musings 115 

CHAPTER II. 

An Angel Unawares 121 

CHAPTER III. 

Bernhard’s Narrative: To the Sea 129 

CHAPTER IV. 

Bernhard’s Narrative (Continued) : Disappointment . . 141 
CHAPTER V. 

Bernhard’s Narrative (Concluded): Farewell . . . .149 

BOOK IV. 

BERTHOLDE'S REMINISCENCES. 

CHAPTER I. 


A Noble Demoiselle 


161 


CONTENTS. 


9 


/ CHAPTER II. 

PAGE 

Betrayed 167 

CHAPTER III. 

The Wonderful Story 180 

CHAPTER IV. 

Day-Dawn 189 

CHAPTER V. 

Perfect Day 198 

CHAPTER VI. 

Impenetrable Darkness 205 

BOOK y. 

ANTOINE \ Sf DIARY. 

CHAPTER I. 

Alexandria 221 

CHAPTER II. 

Across the Desert 229 

CHAPTER III. 

A Slave in Bagdad 237 

CHAPTER IV. 

Along the Years 248 

CHAPTER V. 

Freedom 258 


CHRONICLE II. 


Connecting 


271 


10 


CONTENTS. 


BOOK VI. 

THE OLD PRIEST'S TALE. 

CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

Silken Chains 283 

CHAPTER II. 

The Dead Alive Again, the Lost Found 291 

CHAPTER III. 

The Haven of Rest 304 

CHAPTER IV. 

The Little Cloud and the Flood of Rain 316 


CHRONICLE III. 

Conclusion 328 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


CHRONICLE I. 

INTRODUCTORY. 

“The years — they come and go; 

The races — they drop in the grave; 

Yet never the sorrow doth so 
Which here in my heart I have.” 

Paraphrase on Heine. 

TT was a warm afternoon in the early summer of 1217 
when Amalie and her mother climbed the long steep 
ascent of Mons St. Catherine and beheld the town of 
Rouen spread out at their feet. The old shepherd from 
whom the city is said to have taken its name, and whose 
grim effigy still keeps its watch by the gate in company 
with his faithful dog, would not have recognized his 
ancient pasture-ground in the thriving city with its 
crowded houses, many gables and pointed spires. Wil- 
liam of Normandy would hardly have known the cap- 
ital of his duchy had he gazed at it from this height 
on this summer afternoon, so rapid had been its growth 
during the century which succeeded his departure from 
its stately palace to take possession of the Saxon king- 
dom on the neighboring isle ; and Prince John himself 
might have raised his feeble hands in astonishment at 
the change a few years of French domination had made 
in its beauty and prosperity. 


ii 


12 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


Having reached the height, the pair seated themselves 
upon a rock and for some moments gazed in silence upon 
the scene below them. The towers of the great cathe- 
dral glittered in the afternoon sunlight like burnished 
gold ; the roof of the priory and church of St. Gervaise 
rose in the distance, and the sparkling waters of the 
Seine danced merrily beneath the bridge and wound 
along between the green fields of Normandy on their 
way toward the ocean. Across the river, and farther 
to the south, arose the towers and heavy buttresses of a 
Norman castle crowning a densely-wooded eminence and 
for centuries the property of the De Tourvilles, chief 
vassals of the Crown. Between, in the smiling valley, 
white hamlets and detached cottages told of quiet and 
contented rural life; nor were there wanting here and 
there moving figures to give a human interest to the 
scene. The velvety greenness of the turf was relieved 
by brilliant points of color belonging to the picturesque 
Norman costume, and faint scents of summer blossoms 
floated up toward the mount. 

“Just so it all looked,” said the mother, wearily, 
“ five years ago — five years this very day. Ah me ! 
Life flows onward ever the same — ever the same ! The 
buds and the blossoms follow each other every spring- 
time; summer brings abundance of fruit ; autumn comes, 
and the fields whiten to the harvest, the reapers gather 
into barns ; the snows come and go. But the children ! 
"Where are the children — the buds that never opened 
into blossoms, never developed into fruit? Just so it 
looked that June day when the children marched over 
the bridge, their banners flying, their white crosses 
gleaming in the sunlight, their songs floating upon the 


INTRODUCTORY. 


13 


summer air. How gay the dusty road looked as they 
wound along it around the projecting hill of De Tour- 
* ville and there were lost to view ! It was a grand sight, 
and a touching, although I ceased to see it before all had 
vanished behind the hill. For when Nannette waved 
her banner and pointed from the cross upon her shoul- 
der toward the eastern sky, a mist came before my eyes 
through which she appeared like an angel just ready to 
fly away ; and when the mist had cleared and I looked 
again, they were gone.” 

“ Mother dearest, thou hast often spoken of the chil- 
dren and promised to tell me about them when I should 
be older ; w r ilt thou not fulfill that promise to-day ? I 
am ten years old — older than Nannette was when she 
went away; surely I can now understand. Tell me 
all the story this long, bright summer afternoon, and 
why thy voice is ever so sad, and thine eyes full of 
tears whenever thou dost speak of the children.” 

“ My little daughter, thou art the dearest thing on 
earth to me. Whom have I left in all this blank world 
but thee ? I have been ever fearful lest the Lord might 
call thee too to bear the cross to his sacred sepulchre, and 
I be left alone. Thy father also bade me not excite thy 
young mind with stories of the crusades before thy judg- 
ment was matured. He thought that perchance we erred 
in allowing thy brother and thy sister to join the ranks 
of the little crusaders, and that at least we must keep 
thee. I know not. Thy father loved not the priests 
over well, and yet he hindered not the children’s going ; 
but before he died — as thou knowest, a year ago — he 
called me to him and said, ‘ 1 leave thee alone in a cold 
and careless world. I have little gold to give thee, but 


14 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


thou hast our little Amalie ; keep her, and uever let her 
go/ I promised, and would ever keep my promise ; but 
perchance the Lord’s will is otherwise, and who am I 
that I should gainsay the Lord?” 

“ Nay mother dearest, canst thou think I would ever 
leave thee? Why, how couldst thou live without Ama- 
lie? Who would run to the Place de la Pucelle to buy 
vegetables for the soup, who would bring water from the 
Fontaine de la Croix, who would help thee to climb 
Mons St. Catherine, and how couldst thou travel all the 
long way to St. Gervaise alone, if Amalie were away ? 
They say the dear Jesus loved his mother much w T hen 
he was on earth; dost think he would love me better 
for deserting mine? I suppose the tomb where he lay 
for three days is very dear to him, or he would not send 
so many brave men to win it back from the infidels ; 
but it seems to me the mother’s arms wherein he lay 
all the months and years when he was a little child 
must have been far dearer to him, and he must feel now 
for mothers with only children. He will never call me 
to leave thee. I will never go — never, never ! But tell 
me about the children, mother — about Antoine and Nan- 
nette, and how they came to leave thee and go so far 
away and never come back again. Tell me where they 
are now, and if they really found glory and starry 
crowns in that sacred laud.” 


BOOK I. 


THE MOTHER’S TALE. 








* 











































. 







' 











. 





















CHAPTER I. 


THE UPRISING. 

“No wild enthusiast ever yet could rest 
Till half mankind were like himself possess’d.” 

Cowper. 

TAARLING, it was in the year 1212. Thou wast 
a little thing then, yet methinks thou mightest 
remember Nannette, with her deep-blue eyes and her 
brown, waving hair, and Antoine, my brave, bright 
boy, who with his heart aflame for glory still loved it 
a little less than he loved his mother. Antoine was 
above twelve and Nannette was nearly ten, and they 
seemed to have but one interest and one life between 
them. Besides, there were the two English cousins, 
Richard and Robin, my sister’s children, who were sent 
over to learn the father’s trade, that when they grew 
up they might carry it back to their barbarous isle. 

We were poor then, and the father used often to 
complain of the difficulty of finding food to put into 
so many mouths, and he thought Antoine should help 
him at his trade ; but Antoine loved better to go up 
to the priory of St. Gervaise, where the learned monks 
taught him Latin and the prayers and legends of the 
Church. They even taught him to write, though I 
always hid this knowledge from our neighbors, lest 
they thould think I had dealings with the evil one 
2 17 


18 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


and was tampering with my boy’s soul. But his father 
said the writing was not the worst harm he would get 
from the monks. 

Many fine stories did Antoine tell us as we sat at the 
door at eventide. To these the English cousins would 
listen in open-eyed astonishment; but when Antoine 
told of deeds of valor and enterprises of chivalry, of 
Godfrey of Bouillon, of Hugh of Vermandois and 
Robert of Normandy, of Raymond of Toulouse and 
Tancred, of Baldwin and Fulk of Anjou, and the glory 
of the kingdom of Jerusalem, their eyes would sparkle 
with delight. They liked best, however, to hear of the 
third crusade, when Richard of England performed such 
wonderful feats of valor that all Asia trembled when 
his battle-axe was named. Some of the tales were 
sadder than these. There were tales, also, of the cross 
taken from the holy sepulchre and dragged ignomini- 
ously through the streets of Jerusalem, of Christian 
pilgrims mocked and insulted — even massacred — on the 
very spot hallowed by the sufferings of their King ; and 
at these accounts Nannette’s deep eyes would fill with 
tears, her whole frame would quiver, and she would 
throw herself on my neck and sob till it seemed that 
her heart would break. 

“ Father,” she said, once, “ why dost not thou go and 
fight for the holy sepulchre? I would if I were a man.” 

“ Pshaw !” said the father ; “ who would pay for graves 
to bury you all when you had starved to death, if I should 
go ? If there must be fighting for holy things, let the 
priests go, and the monks ; they have no wives and chil- 
dren to work for.” 

Crusading was not in much favor just then ; men were 


THE MOTHER’S TALE. 


19 


tired of leaving all and crossing land and sea for an idea. 
Many homes hiad been desolated, many splendid armies 
had gone forth with flying banners and sure anticipations 
of victory, only to fall upon the plains at Acre and Asca- 
lon before even reaching the walls of Jerusalem. To 
many the treasure seemed wasted that had been so pro- 
fusely poured out in what now seemed a hopeless cause, 
and men were not so willing to risk it freely as in the 
earlier and better days. A third, fourth and fifth cru- 
sade, undertaken after the Saracen Saladin had recaptured 
the Holy City in 1187, had proved equally disastrous, 
and, now that Pope Innocent III. ordered the sixth to 
be organized, men hung back, and those who, as thy 
father, had families to care for and trades to think of, 
liked not to hear or to talk about the crusades. 

About this time, however, some of the holy priests 
attempted to stir up the faithful to fresh enthusiasm in 
the cause of rescuing the holy sepulchre. Prayers were 
offered for this end in all the churches, processions were 
marched through the cities, and the preachers told their 
congregations that the nearest way to heaven lay through 
the gate of Jerusalem. And if this is true — as, of course, 
it must be, since the priests say it — it must be a very 
wicked thing for men to be so cold and mercenary, and 
refuse to open the way to heaven for so many poor souls 
who might otherwise go thither on pilgrimage and thence 
to heaven. I fear that for this reason the great awful 
God was sorely grieved with our fair France, and that 
she will yet feel his righteous retribution. 

But the father said men had grown too wise to care 
for indulgences which brought only suffering and death 
in their train, that promises of glory which were never 


20 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS . 


fulfilled soon lost their market value, that birds flying 
across the plains of Hungary had proved themselves 
very unreliable guides, and that he had rather work at 
his trade for money wherewith to pay the fat monks for 
praying his soul out of purgatory than wander over land 
and sea to find a salvation which was so easily attained 
at home. Poor blind father ! But it may be that even 
now one little blue-eyed saint has taught him how car- 
rying the cross, even for a little while, is the surest way 
of winning the crown. 

But I am talking of matters far above thee, little one. 
Thy father used to talk to me thus in the long winter 
evenings when our children were all in bed. I have no 
one but thee to speak to now, and I sometimes forget 
how very little thou art. I will come to that which will 
interest thee more. 

One evening — ah ! how well I remember it ! — Antoine 
rushed in followed by his cousins, his eyes sparkling, his 
face glowing, his hair streaming in the wind and his 
whole frame quivering with excitement. 

“ Mother,” he said as soon as he could speak, for he 
was quite out of breath with ruuning, “the children of 
France are going to take the holy sepulchre. The Lord 
is displeased with the cold-hearted ness and sluggishness 
of the men, and has commissioned the boys to do what 
the men have left undone.” 

“And the girls too,” interposed Nannette. 

“Jacob of Hungary has been preaching on the steps 
of the cathedral. He says that the Lord Jesus himself 
appeared, in the form of a pilgrim returned from Pal- 
estine, to a boy named Stephen as he was tending his 
father’s flocks near the village of Cloyes. Stephen is 


THE MOTHER ’S TALE . 


21 


only twelve years old — no older than I am, mother — but 
he is to lead the French children to the Holy Land, 
where they will recapture the holy sepulchre. The 
Lord also gave Stephen a letter to the king which 
says that the king is to give the children all the aid 
in his power. Jacob says Stephen is preaching every 
day to the crowds of pilgrims who come to pray 
there, and he says that in answer to his call thousands 
of children are assembling and putting on the cross in 
every town and village of France. The children are 
all to meet at Vendome, and the Lord himself will 
then come and lead them down to the sea. Then he 
will make a pathway through the waters, as once he 
did for the children of Israel, and the children of 
France will carry the oriflamme triumphantly across, 
till they plant it upon the highest battlements of the 
Holy City, where the crescent now stands. Mother, I too 
am going. Wilt not thou rejoice to feel that thine own 
boy did his part toward the deliverance of Jerusalem?” 

“ I also am going,” said Richard, Robin, the twin, 
clinging to him, as he always did, till they seemed to 
have but one soul between them. “ I am going to do 
as our noble king Richard did. I too would be called 
i lion-hearted/ ” 

Then Nannette arose, and, standing close to her broth- 
er, looking as delicate and ethereal as a little angel beside 
the sturdy English boys, exclaimed with kindling eyes, 

“I want to go to the country of Jesus — to see the man- 
ger where he lay when he was a baby, the home where he 
lived when he was a child, all the places where he was so 
good to the sick and so kind to little children, and to look 
at the spots where he suffered and died. I am going too.” 


22 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


But Nannette was trembling all over, and as I looked 
at the frail little form I could not help saying — God 
forgive my faithless heart ! — 

“ Nannette at least shall not go.” 

Ah ! if I had only been less selfish, had only trusted 
my Lord more and had been more willing to give up 
my best to him, perhaps he would have honored my 
trust and taken better care of my darling. 

I sent the children all to bed, and then their father 
and I talked long over the matter. To my surprise, he 
seemed very willing to let the boys go. 

“ They are strong and hardy,” he said. “ Boys always 
want to see the world. Who knows but that our 
Antoine may become as famous as this Stephen or 
young Nicholas of Germany, who is preaching the 
crusade in Colonia? His bold, bright face may attract 
the notice of some great lord, and thus his fortune be 
made at once. At any rate, since I cannot find food 
enough to put into so many mouths, perhaps the Lord 
can. Let them go.” 

I was content. Not that I cared for the fortune or 
feared that bread enough would not be found to fill the 
mouths of all the birdliugs in our home-nest, but I 
thought how glorious it would be to be mother to one 
of the liberators of the sepulchre of our Lord ; how 
proud I should be when he came home again singing 
the songs of the conquerors, and how glad when I could 
stand before the Lord Christ in his ransomed city, 
saying, “ Behold me and the children whom thou hast 
given me !” and hear his thrilling voice saying to my 
boy, “Ye did it unto me.” 


CHAPTER II. 

N ANNETTE AND FERE IGNATIUS. 


* He is so full of pleasing anecdote, 

So rich, so grave, so earnest in his wit, 

Time vanishes before him as he speaks.” 

Joanna Baillie. 

T HE next morning Nannette drooped. Her little 
household tasks seemed distasteful to her ; and 
when she had finished them, she went and sat by the 
open door and looked listlessly up at the sky. All day 
she sat there. Sometimes her eyes would fill with tears 
and I could hear a deep, low sigh ; then she would rest 
her head upon her hands for a long time and mutter to 
herself low words which I could not hear. It almost 
seemed as if she were talking with some one. Perhaps 
she was. Strange things happened in those days, and it 
would be no more strange for saints and angels to speak 
to my pure little darling than for the Lord himself to 
appear to Stephen of Cloyes. 

Toward evening I saw Nannette get up with a look 
on her face as if she were striving to see far into the 
distance, and walk away in the direction of the priory 
of St. Gervaise, on the road to Lillebon. She used often 
thus to meet her brother on his way home from his 
lessons with the good friars, so I did not prevent her, 
though I watched somewhat anxiously for her return. 
In about two hours she came slowly back — alone. 

23 


24 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


Antoine had not been to the priory, but into the market- 
place to consult with the other boys touching their 
departure for the Holy Laud, and then to the cathedral 
to hear Jacob of Hungary preach. At the church door 
Nannette met him, and, creeping behind a column, she 
too heard all the eloquence with which the speaker told 
of the sufferings of the poor persecuted Christians who 
vainly endeavored to kneel before the Lord’s sacred 
grave in order to save their souls. A description fol- 
lowed of the many indignities heaped upon the holy 
places by Saracen hatred, and of the rivers of Chris- 
tian blood shed in the vain attempt to wrest these places 
from sacrilegious hands. Then the speaker repeated the 
story of young Stephen and his message to the children 
of France, and promised to all who should obey it hap- 
piness here and a crown of glory hereafter. He said 
that God would lead and guide them ; that ravens should 
feed them, the sea open a way for them to cross over 
dryshod ; that fortified cities should fall like Jericho at 
the blast of their trumpets, and with banners floating, 
music clashing and shouts of victory the child-hosts of 
the Lord would march in and plant the standard of the 
cross on the very spot where the Saviour was led to 
crucifixion. 

“ Oh, it is so beautiful !” said Nannette as she sat 
beside me in the twilight that evening, wearily resting 
her head on my lap ; and I remember now how softly 
her silky brown curls twined themselves around my 
fingers. 

“ What is beautiful, little one ?” said I. 

“ Jerusalem, with the golden streets, and the gates of 
pearl, and the tree of life, and the great white throne, 


THE MOTHER’S TALE. 


25 


and the temple, and the sepulchre, and the children 
with their waving banners, and the river of life, and the 
golden-crowned saints, the music, the flowers and the 
incense, and — ” 

“ But stop, Nannette !” said I, as she was running on 
and mingling all the beautiful things she had ever heard 
in her description of the Holy City. “ These are not 
all in Jerusalem ; some of them are in heaven.” 

“ Oh yes, they are,” said she ; “ they will all be there 
when the children go. St. Agnes will be there with her 
lamb, St. Cecilia with her harp, and the white lilies 
of France will wave among those of the Virgin. There 
will no night there; the sun will shine all the time. 
And Jesus will be there too ! Only think ! I shall hear 
him say, ‘ Suffer little children to come unto me.’ No, 
I shaVt hear him, for I shaVt be there. Mother, dear- 
est mother, thou hast never before denied thy little 
Nannette anything ; do let me go with Antoine and the 
boys to Jerusalem ;” and she trembled all over so that I 
was obliged to hold her up to keep her from falling. 

What could I do or say ? I knew that she was too 
young and delicate to bear the fatigues of the long 
journey, too ignorant to have an idea of what really lay 
before her. I feared for my innocent little girl the 
corrupting influences of contact with rude men and 
boys to which so sudden a plunge into the outside world 
would expose her. Intangible dangers without number 
loomed around the very suggestion of sending my white 
dove unfledged from the nest. I fear I was faithless ; 
it hardly seemed as if He who provided for ravens and 
dried up the sea, or as if all the holy saints themselves, 
could take such good care of my Nannette as her own 


26 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


mother. The saints forgive me ! the Holy Mother 
knows what is in a mother’s heart. But I almost wished 
that Jacob had never come to our town of Rouen to 
preach the crusade to the children, since thereby Nan- 
nette’s excitable imagination had been set on fire. 

The next morning Nannette seemed so weak that I 
would not let her get up, and I sent her father to the 
priory -to ask one of the good friars — a very learned 
man — to come and see if perchance his knowledge of 
herbs would help her. 

Father Ignatius was always a good friend to us, poor 
man ! It ever seemed to me as if, having no family of 
his own, he took our little ones into his heart to fill part 
of its vacant place. I never could understand how thy 
father could be so bitter against the priests. What holy 
men they must be, to be willing to give up all for the 
love of God and the Church, and to live and die with no 
hearts or hands of their own to care for them, that thus 
they may save the souls of us poor sinful men and 
women ! 

P§re Ignatius was Antoine’s teacher at the priory, and 
bestowed great pains upon his lessons. He would say, 
when I feared that Antoine was learning more than was 
for his soul’s health, 

“ Never fear. I teach the boy his prayers as well as 
his writing, and the day will come when thou wilt be 
more glad to see a parchment written by thy son’s hand 
than if a lord had made thee a present of gold or sil- 
ver.” 

How should he know ? Many an evening has Pere 
Ignatius sat on our doorstep with the little Nannette in 
his arms, telling her old-time stories of how Duke Wil- 


THE MOTHER’S TALE. 


27 


liam gathered his armies in the courtyard of the great stone 
palace and rode off to the seacoast, from whence he took 
ship for Hastings, where was fought the great battle 
which laid Harold low and secured William the possession 
of England. He told, too, how years afterward, when 
the king had grown to be an old man, his horse, taking 
fright at the inhuman sack of the town of Nantes, gal- 
loped otf with his wounded master all the way to the 
priory of St. Gervaise, here in Rouen, where he lay for 
three days deserted by all his servants and retinue, and 
died quite alone while his sons were in England quar- 
reling as to who should be his successor. It ever seemed 
to me a sad, sad ending for so glorious a life, and I 
prayed, when I heard it, that my children might stand 
around to close my dying eyes in that hour which must 
come to me as to all of us. 

The good father had also many stories to tell of holy 
saints, especially of St. Mello, the first bishop of Rouen, 
who built his chapel underground that the heathen might 
not discover and interrupt the Christian worship. An 
underground passage led to it from the saint’s dwelling, 
two miles off, on the other side of the mountain, and 
here in times of persecution the faithful were often hid- 
den safely till the storm was over. This chapel, he told 
us, still existed, directly under the priory church ; it was 
sometimes used on very solemn occasions, but we had 
never seen it. 

Pere Ignatius had also prepared the children for their 
first communion, which took place at the same time ; for, 
although Nannette was two years younger than her 
brother, she could not bear to be separated from him in 
anything. I shall never forget how like an angel she 


28 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


looked in her white dress and veil that day. It is time 
for thy first communion, Amalie, but thou wilt never 
look as she looked then ; I sometimes fancy her aspect is 
much the same now. 

When, toward evening, the holy father made his 
appearance, he seemed very grave and preoccupied. 

“ I would that men had more sense,” he said. “The 
town is mad with the talk of this crusade of the children. 
What can boys like Antoine and Robin here, like the 
smith’s Jacques or the weaver’s Pierre, do to recover the 
Holy City from infidels whose strong arms have held it 
against the flower of the armies of Christendom ? How 
shall Richard the cloth-weaver’s apprentice succeed 
where Richard the Lion-hearted, king of England, 
failed — unless, indeed, by a miracle? and the age for 
miracles hath long since passed by. That kind goeth 
not out save by prayer and fasting, such as the Church 
hath long since ceased to practice. I judge from what 
I read in my manuscripts that there is many a weary 
mile between this and the Holy City. There are moun- 
tains to climb, the great sea to cross and rapid rivers to 
ford. There are hostile countries to pass through, 
pirates by sea to be encountered, and robbers by land. 
The world, the flesh and the devil lurk in the cities and the 
solitary places to lead captive both body and soul. How 
shall mere infants pass unscathed through fire aud water 
and reach in safety the goal of their hopes ? Besides, 
they must be fed and clothed, and means of transporta- 
tion must be found for them ; and our children of the 
laity — the merchants of Venice, Genoa, Marseilles and 
Constantinople — have not shown themselves over-willing 
to lend gratuitous aid to the armies of the cross.” 


THE MOTHER'S TALE. 


29 


“Father,” said Nannette, rising from her bed, while 
the excitement of fever struggled with her weakness, 
“God will take care of the children. God has called 
them ; he will not suffer them to fall by the way. The 
battle is his ; he will fight for us. He will make a path 
for us over the mountains and open one through the sea. 
He will hold back the hands of robbers and enemies 
from his little ones, and will feed and care for them. 
He will give them the victory and open to them the 
golden gates of the city of God. But, father, little 
Nannette will not be there to march in with the others. 
— Jerusalem, Jerusalem! how I long to see thee! — 
Father, thou hast taught me about the city ; now help 
me to go to it. Persuade the mother to let me join 
those happy children who are going to see Jesus and 
to plant flowers around his desecrated grave.” 

“ Poor little Nannette is ill ; these are fever-dreams. 
— Lie still, dearest. Take this draught which is pre- 
pared for thee, and to-morrow thou wilt be wearing a 
daisy crown with the other children on the green. Thou 
mayest then go and see Jesus on the great cross in the 
cathedral, and lay thy flowers there at his blessed feet* 
It is not yet Nan netted time to tread the golden streets 
of the Holy City.” 

“ Yet I fear,” said the priest to me — or, rather, half 
to himself — as he turned to leave the house, “ the child 
is ill, very ill. I fear for the brain. Would that that 
boy Stephen had continued to tend his father’s sheep 
in Cloves, that Nicholas of Germany had not been put 
forward as a rival prophet, and that this Jacob had 
remained in Hungary to sow his seeds of mischief else- 
where than among my lambs ! I fear me the old enemy 


30 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


hath some part in all this. Methinks I see traces of his 
cloven foot ; it is not the first time he has appeared as 
an angel of light. The Lord forgive me if I seem to 
throw slight upon his messengers, but to send babies over 
land and sea to fight fierce Turks and Saracens is not 
common sense — is not like the loving-kindness, the ten- 
der, pitying mercy, of the Lord.” 

That evening thy father said — it was the first good 
thing I had ever heard him say of a priest — 

" Father Ignatius is a wiser man than I took him 
for. I expected he would be as rabid as the rest over 
the children’s crusade, but he thinks it visionary and 
impracticable, and advises me to keep the boys at home. 
He reasoned so fairly on our walk hither that I had half 
a mind to do so, but thou knowest my reasons. My 
word is pledged to Antoine and I may not go back, but 
keep thou Nanuette. Were there more such priests as 
Father Ignatius, perhaps there would be no more cru- 
sades, nor need for them.” 

Nannette took the draught, and soon fell asleep ; but 
she did not join the other children in gathering daisies 
on the green the next day, nor yet the next, nor for 
many days afterward. She lay quietly in her bed, gen- 
tle and uncomplaining, taking no nourishment, speaking 
very little, occasionally soaking the pillow with her tears, 
and when questioned sobbing out, “ Oh, I want to see 
Jerusalem !” At times she would be feverish and 
light-headed, and would speak of beautiful things that 
she saw and strange places in which she was, and she 
seemed to converse with an unseen Presence. Occa- 
sionally her face would fairly light up with joy, but 


THE MOTHER'S TALE. 


31 


then a sad shadow would flit across it, and she would 
murmur “ Jerusalem and fall at once into a lethargy 
from which nothing could arouse her. 

Meanwhile, the excitement about the crusade was 
spreading with unexampled rapidity. Family after 
family was giving up its quota of children to swell the 
ranks of the young army ; singing-boys from the cathe- 
dral went round the streets chanting psalms and invit- 
ing all to join them. Every day bands of children — 
girls as well as boys — assembled in the market-place to 
have their names registered and their places in the ranks 
assigned. In the dwelling-houses of the city all other 
work was laid aside to give time for the making of the 
pilgrim-uniforms of gray cloth, upon the shoulder of 
which was fastened a large white cross. The demand 
for this cloth was so great that all the looms in Rouen 
were called into requisition, and some of the weavers 
became quite rich in a short time. Among others, thy 
father made quite a sum of money, which, with a gen- 
erosity quite unusual to him, he gave to the boys for any 
emergency they might meet on the road. 

Our house was in a whirl of excitement. Our three 
boys rushed in every few hours with new tidings of the 
numbers who were joining the bands here and elsewhere; 
of the successes of Nicholas at Cologne and of those of 
Stephen at St. Denis ; of the orders which were sent 
through men called “ minor prophets ” that the French 
children should assemble at Vendome and march thence 
to the sea, and the Germans, following the Rhine, 
should meet them at the same point and at the same 
time. 

I was glad to see that my Antoine, though his heart 


32 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


was full of ardor for the crusade, loved to devote to his 
mother all the time he could spare. Many were the 
long hours he spent with me watching beside Nannette 
and talking in a low tone of his hopes and aspirations, 
and sure I am that not one of all that great company of 
little ones went forth with a purer purpose and a more 
chivalrous soul than he. I have sometimes thought in 
my lonely widowhood what it would have been worth 
to me to have had his strong young arm and his early 
thoughtfulness to lean upon, what a father he would 
have been to my Amalie, what a light to our desolate 
home. But all such repinings are sinful. The Lord 
had need of him ; should I have refused to give him 
my best? 

At length the time for the departure was fixed. It was 
to be on Wednesday, the 1st of June, and on the Friday 
before, when Bichard came in with the news, Antoine 
and I were sitting by Nannette, who seemed unusually 
feeble that day. My boy looked at me; tears were in 
his eyes, but about his whole form there was a manly 
determination that seemed already to mark the young 
crusader. 

When Bichard had gone out, Nannette turned to us 
and said very solemnly, while her eyes shone like two 
great stars, 

“ Mother, Antoine, for the last time listen to me. 
The Lord himself hath spoken to me ; will you say him 
nay? In the darkness of the night, while you thought 
me sleeping, suddenly a bright light filled the upper 
part of the room. Below was Bouen; I could see its 
churches, its palace, the Place de la Pucelle, St. Gervaise, 
and even our own house. Beyond lay all the rest of 


THE MOTHER'S TALE. 


33 


France, with the rivers and mountains laid out in 
different directions and many people toiling wearily 
along the roads. All were in darkness ; you, mother, 
and the father were in darkness. But above, in the 
light, rose another city. Oh, I knew that must be 
Jerusalem, my heart went out so joyfully toward it. I 
saw the pearly gates and the golden streets ; I heard the 
beautiful music; I almost smelled the flowers. Between 
the two cities stood the Child Jesus, just as he stands in 
the picture over the Virgin’s altar. He pointed first to 
the darkness, then to the light, and he bade me leave 
Rouen and France and you and all the shadows, and 
come up with him to the shining city above. Mother, 
his voice is still sounding in my ears ; I must obey it. 
Let me go with the children next Wednesday ; if I do 
not, I shall surely die.” 

I did not know what to do, but in the dusk of the 
evening I stole up to the priory and asked for P§re 
Ignatius. I told him of Nannette’s vision and of her con- 
dition, and besought his counsel in my difficult position. 

“ It may be,” said he, thoughtfully — “‘revealed it 
unto babes ;’ but I fear the latter alternative. I hear of 
this everywhere. In Germany many children have died 
from this same cause, and some in France; they pine 
away with very longing. It is strange — passing strange 
— what power is permitted to the evil one ‘to deceive if 
it were possible even the elect.’ But,” he added, with 
sudden decision, “ God can take care of his own ; he 
carries the lambs in his bosom. It seems to be the only 
chance for her life; let her go. And I — ” 

But the pere did not finish his sentence, and I hurried 
home to communicate his opinion to thy father. His 
3 


34 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


first impulse was to curse the credulity of the priesthood. 
As for the vision, he did not think much of that ; but 
when he came to consider that Pere Ignatius was also 
the best leech in Rouen, and that the child was evidently 
pining away, he saw it was inevitable, and gave his 
reluctant consent. 

For me, I was glad it was so decided. What were 
we that we should say “ Nay ” to the Lord ? Had he 
not often asked of his servants their most precious gifts? 
Was I better than Abraham or than Hannah? Had 
he not indeed himself thus called my child? Such 
visions had been common to the saints, and ought I not 
to be proudly thankful that a child of mine should be 
so honored ? Yet thou knowest, O merciful Saviour, the 
agony of heart with which I sent forth my fairest and 
sweetest flower into the cold world to follow thee. 


CHAPTER III. 

DEDICATION AND DEPARTURE. 


“ In vain our labors are, whate’er they be, 

Unless God gives the 1 Benedicite V ” — Herrick. 

HEN Nannette was informed of our consent to 



" ^ her wishes, the reaction was so great that she 
fainted away ; but on coming to herself a new life 
seemed to have taken possession of her. Her strength, 
her spirits and her appetite returned. She danced 
around the house with her old elastic step, becoming 
almost as much a sunbeam as she had ever been. To 
see her, no one would have supposed her on the eve of 
setting forth on a long, perilous journey from which she 
might never return, but rather she seemed like a little 
maiden about to climb this hill of St. Catharine with 
her companions to lay votive offerings of flowers and 
fruits at the shrine of Our Lady of Bonsecours. 

Yet she had her sober moments too. On Sunday even- 
ing, instead of joining the other children on the green, as 
usual, she took thee in her arms, and, sitting down, told 
thee to comfort mother when she was away — that thou 
must make haste and grow up to be a wise little woman 
and steadier than she had been. I think thou must 
remember how she looked down at thee with her deep, 
earnest eyes that night. Then she said, 

“ Don’t miss me too much, mother dearest; I shall 


35 


36 THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS . 

be thinking of thee all the time. Remember how much 
better I can pray for thee and little Amalie at the holy 
sepulchre. If Jesus appears so beautiful to me here, 
only think what he will do for me there, in his own 
home ! When we conquer the Holy City and the king- 
dom is set up there, Antoine and I will send for thee. 
You will all come — thou and Amalie, and father too. 
It will be easy traveling then, for all the enemies will 
be conquered; and Amalie shall be one of the little 
children who are to play about the streets of Jerusalem. 
I shall never come back to Rouen ; in the vision it was 
all dark here, and Jerusalem is the better country. I 
had rather be there. But you will all come when we 
send for you, will you not, mother dear?” 

Ah, Nannette, we will all surely come, but the way 
is not easy, for the enemies are not all conquered yet : 
the last one still stands at the side of the unknown 
sea; and God grant that Amalie may not be a little 
child when she enters the streets of the city where 
thou art ! 

The afternoon of the day before that fixed upon for 
the departure, Pere Ignatius sent me word by one of 
the boys that he desired to see me and the children at 
St. Gervaise; so we set out for our last walk all togeth- 
er. Thou knowest the path, for I have often led thee 
along it, trying in vain to fancy thee Nannette. We 
found other parents and children awaiting us — neigh- 
bors and friends — and I was glad to think that our little 
fledglings would not be quite alone in their first flight, 
but would have some companions to remind them of 
the home-nest. 

Pere Ignatius soon joined us, and led the way into 


THE MOTHER'S TALE. 


37 


the church of St. Gervaise, adjoining the monastery. It 
was built, as I have told thee, over the spot where our 
great William died alone nearly a hundred years ago. 
The priest walked to the centre of the church, and, tak- 
ing hold of a ring, lifted from the floor a marble slab, 
beneath which appeared a flight of stone steps. Motion- 
ing us to follow, he rapidly descended these, and in a 
few moments we all found ourselves in the underground 
chapel or crypt of which we had heard so much. 

“ Nearly a thousand years ago,” said P&re Ignatius, 
standing before the altar, “ in this very spot, the gospel 
of our Lord was first preached in France; here St. 
Mello, with his life in one hand, sowed the seeds of 
truth and planted trees of righteousness with the other. 
Here, in the heart of the earth, were then laid the sure 
foundations of that Church against which the gates of 
hell shall not prevail. There were no gorgeous altar- 
cloths or furniture here, no gold or gems, no music 
or incense, but there was faith in the heart ; there were 
souls to whom the dying love of their Saviour was so 
new and so real a thing that their enthusiastic devotion 
to his cause knew neither bounds nor fear. And it was 
no mere lip-service which laid upon this consecrated 
altar soul, body and possessions, to be his in life and in 
death and for ever. Here, children, in this cradle of 
Christianity, I ask you solemnly, Is it devotion to the 
service of Jesus Christ that leads you forth upon this 
crusade ?” 

The moment of silence which followed immediately 
after this question was broken by Antoine’s firm boyish 
voice saying, 

"It is!” 


38 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


And the other children — many of whom were, I fear, 
too young to understand the question — murmured in 
confused echo, 

“ It is !” 

P§re Ignatius continued : 

“ Here on this altar you behold the sacred sign of- your 
salvation. It is under the banner of the cross that you 
are going forth ; you are to fight its battle, and its shadow 
will be your only protection. Your mission is not one 
of blood ; you are to win the Holy City, not by slaugh- 
ter, but by converting to the true faith those who hold 
it.” Then, clasping his hands and looking upward, he 
exclaimed, “ The Holy Land can be won in no other 
way than as thou, O Lord Jesus Christ, and thine apos- 
tles won it — by the shedding of tears and of blood.” 

He then caused the children to kneel before him, and, 
administering to them the sacred emblems, laid his hands 
upon the head of each, and blessed them all in that 
Name under whose protection their perilous enterprise 
was undertaken. 

“God the Father,” said he, "in whose hand are safely 
held the tempest and the thunderbolt, the scorching sun 
of the desert and the fierce waves of the sea, keep you 
from all evil, be a Father to you fatherless little ones, 
and bring the homeless into his eternal home of rest. 
God the Holy Ghost make your hearts his temple, that, 
wherever you may be, the desert solitude or the crowded 
city may be to you alike the house of prayer whence 
white-winged angel-messengers may be ever ascending 
to the great altar of the temple above. God the Son, 
our dear Lord and Saviour, be your constant Compan- 
ion, Guide and Friend, his precious blood cleanse you 


THE MOTHER ’S TALE. 


39 


from all sin, his loving arms enfold you, his banner 
over you be mighty and eternal love.” 

All the parents present were in tears and many of 
the children were sobbing with uncontrollable excite- 
ment; but Nannette, with crimson cheeks and tearless 
eyes, suddenly struck up, 

“Jerusalem the golden, 

With milk and honey blest 1” 

One voice after another joined in, and as the assembly 
broke up and wound in an irregular line to the town 
the sweet strains came floating back, till one could 
almost fancy that the sanctified spirits of those who 
had worshiped in the subterranean chapel a thousand 
years ago were sending back a good report of the land 
they had found across the Jordan. 

Our party lingered to the last, and I said to Pere 
Ignatius, 

“At length, then, thou hast faith in the crusade of 
the children?” 

“I have faith in the children’s faith,” answered he, 
“and, since they will go, I would throw around the 
poor deluded innocents all the safeguards that a strong 
realization of the presence of almighty Love can give 
them. And who knows but the Lord, who looketh at 
the heart, may see in this blind devotion more acceptable 
service than in pilgrimages whose fame rings through the 
world ? But woe to them by whom the offence cometh !” 
added he, between his teeth. “ What shall be the punish- 
ment of him who shall offend one of these little ones ?” 


The sun rose brilliantly upon the morning of the 


40 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


first of June, yet he was up but little earlier than the 
children, who flocked in crowds to the market-place, 
followed by parents and friends desirous of keeping 
their little ones in sight up to the last moment. The 
city was all astir. The shops and the factories were 
deserted ; no work was done in the town of Rouen that 
day, for all had some interest in the departure. Those 
who had no children in the army were friends of those 
who had, and — so closely are the human lives of a city 
interwoven — it seemed as if all Rouen that day were one 
hearthstone from which the little brothers and sisters 
were going, perchance never to return. 

There were sad scenes in the market-place — parents 
vainly endeavoring to the last to persuade resolute 
children to remain, but unable to resist the tide of 
public opinion and keep them by force ; child-hearts 
breaking down into tears which child-wills were yet 
strong enough to suppress. There were longings to 
remain coming at last moments to those who were going, 
and bitter regrets, now that it was too late, to those who 
were to stay, and partings which all the enthusiasm of 
the time, the excitement of the moment and the restless 
love of change incident to childhood could not render 
otherwise than painful to the children, and which the 
thought of the desolation to follow made perfect torture 
to those who were to be left behind. What should we 
all do without the children ? How still would be the 
streets ! how lonely the green ! Who, when the boys 
were gone, would drive the cows to pasture in the morn- 
ing and bring them back at night? Who, when the 
girls were not here to do it, would crown the shrines 
with flowers ? Who would rock the cradles of the 


THE MOTHER ’S TALE. 


41 


little ones while their mothers cared for the cooking and 
the homes? Where would be the apprentices to the 
cloth trade, the boys to help the armorer, the choristers 
for the churches? Who would lead the blind old 
grandparents to mass ? Who would fill the dark, silent 
homes with sunshine and music? It seemed as though 
the wheels of life must stop when the children went 
away, and as if we had just found out how large a 
portion of our lives was the child-life of which before 
we had thought so little. 

But the canons of the cathedral and those who had 
charge of marshaling the army were not pleased that 
the enterprise should commence in so sad a manner, 
and Jacob of Hungary, stepping forward, raised high 
a crucifix and shouted, 

“ Fathers and mothers of Rouen, bethink you of 
what you do ! Why this unseemly weeping and wail- 
ing ? Rather should ye rejoice that God hath so honored 
you in calling your little ones to fight beneath his 
glorious banner of the cross. Theirs is a magnificent 
destiny : they march to certain victory beneath the 
sheltering wings of the Almighty ; but, were it not so, 
look upon this sacred emblem. See what the Lord Jesus 
did for you. He hesitated not to give up his all to 
save you; will you hesitate to give up your all to 
serve him?” 

Then the multitude swayed to and fro ; a tempest of 
excited sobs shook the air, and above them rose a mighty 
shout : 

“ It is the will of God ! It is the will of God !” 

No more time was then lost. The children had been 
pouring into the market-place all the morning from the 


42 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


dark, many-storied houses of the town, from the labored 
huts along the river-side or in the fields, and from the 
chateaux and castles among the hills and forests — simple 
and gentle, peasant, citizen and lord, all mingled in one 
throng, all dressed in the same gray dress and bearing 
the same white cross ; for were they not going to rescue 
the sepulchre of Him who died for all alike? And 
when the last name had been registered, and it was found 
that the division which Rouen sent out to join the grand 
army of the crusade numbered five hundred little ones, 
then the trumpets sounded, the standard-bearers raised 
their oriflamme — an exact copy of that which is pre- 
served at St. Denis — the monks and canons standing on 
the cathedral steps burst into a psalm, and the cortege 
began to move. 

I remember very little of our children’s farewell. A 
bluff “ Good-bye !” from the English boys, a convulsive 
clasp of Nannette’s arms around my neck and murmured 
words about “ Jerusalem ! Jesus ! You will come ?” 
Antoine’s resolute look as he passed his arm around 
Nannette’s waist and said, “ Never fear, mother ; I will 
take care of her, and thou shalt be proud of thy boy 
yet,” — this was all. So slight are the farewells which, 
though we know it not at the time, are often destined 
to be for ever ! 

Before the long procession had fairly filed out of the 
market-place some one exclaimed, “ To the mount !” 
and all the excited and weeping parents and spectators 
crowded up the long ascent, till we stood where we stand 
to-day. From here we could distinctly see the children 
as they crossed the bridge and wound along the road to 
the south. 


THE MOTHER ’S TALE. 


43 


To the mere spectator the sight was a very beautiful 
one. The boys were in gray mantles and with uncovered 
heads, their long fair hair floating in the breeze; the 
girls wore their high white Norman caps and gray robes, 
and all were marked by the pure white crosses on their 
shoulders as sworn soldiers of Christ. Many of the 
elder boys carried banners, and some of the younger 
children bore green boughs, in imitation of those who 
strewed branches in the Lord’s path at his entry into 
Jerusalem. I think many of those little ones really 
believed that a bright summer day’s walk would bring 
them in sight of the Holy City, and that they would 
lay those very branches yet unwithered upon their 
Saviour’s shrine. 

I was surprised to see how small the children looked 
from this height ; many were not more than eight and 
some were only six years old. How could such mere 
babies bear the exposure and fatigue of such a long 
journey on foot? — though, to be sure, as they were 
going on the Lord’s errand, he might take care of them, 
even as in olden times he did of the children of Israel 
in their journeyings through the deserts. 

The children all looked so much alike that only the 
eye of affection could distinguish its own ; but a mother 
cannot be deceived, and I could distinctly see Antoine, 
his arm still around Nannette, his firm step and noble 
bearing marking a holy purpose and a resolute will ; 
and then a mist of tears hid them from my sight. 

I remember little else for the next few weeks; I 
believe I had a low nervous fever. I know my re- 
bellious will refused to echo my voice when it joined in 
that swelling chorus, “ It is the will of God !” But 


44 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


God is just ; he hath not left my great sin unpunished, 
and I fear he has indeed visited the parent’s sins 
upon the children. It is just : I bow before his chasten- 
ing hand ; yet, O thou pale pathetic Christ, let not thy 
hand fall too heavily upon my Antoine, for he indeed 
is guiltless of the waywardness of my unfaithful heart. 

Thy father tended me with unwonted tenderness dur- 
ing those weeks, and Pere Ignatius was frequently at my 
side, though only in the working-hours, for thy father 
seemed more set against the priests than ever, and thou, 
Amalie, wert ever by with sweet baby-words and inno- 
cent caresses. And by degrees the fever passed away; 
strength began to return, and I took up again the old 
burden of life, feeling that having thee I had not lost 
all. Now, too, I learned, as I had never learned before, 
little by little to lay my disobedient will at the feet of 
Him whose will can be only love to me, and found that 
into the green pastures of peace and resignation a little 
child could lead me. 

The first event which really aroused me was the sud- 
den disappearance of P§re Ignatius. No one could tell 
what had become of him. His books and his parch- 
ments were all in their usual order, he had borne his 
ordinary part in the vesper service, but in the morning 
his cell was empty, and he was gone. Search was made 
in the underground chapel, but he was not there. He 
had not been seen leaving the monastery, but some peas- 
ants remembered to have met him crossing the bridge at 
daybreak, a wallet at his side and a staff in his hand ; 
farther on he had blessed a child who stood in his path- 
way ; and this was all that any one knew. 

Now that he was gone, men found out what they had 


THE MOTHER 'S TALE. 


45 


lost. His learning, his sanctity, his benevolence, his 
humility — above all, his strange disappearance — were 
the themes of every one’s talk. It seemed that the arch- 
bishop himself would hardly have been so much missed 
as was this ordinary-looking priest who held no public 
office, and who was only one of the monks of St. Ger- 
vaise. In the fickle affections of the townspeople his 
departure seemed to have quite superseded that of the 
children, and some of the conjectures as to what had 
become of him surpassed the wildest dreams of romance. 
I had my own ideas, but kept them to myself ; for thy 
father liked me not to talk of the children, and I would 
not bring into trouble the good, kind monk wdio, as I 
strongly suspected, had broken his vow of obedience to 
his superiors for human love of those so dear to me. 

One day early in August a traveling merchant ap- 
peared in the town of Rouen. He came from the South, 
bringing with him silks of India, pearls of the East, 
precious stuffs, and other things which might be sold 
only at the castles and be worn by titled knights and 
noble ladies; such are the laws of our sovereign the 
king. But he also brought to the townspeople of Rouen 
that which was to them of infinitely greater value, for 
he had seen — yes, in answer to the agonized questions 
which poured upon him from all sides he was able to 
say he had seen — the children ! He had met them to 
the south of Lyons, on the borders of Provence. There 
were many thousands of them, marching with undimin- 
ished zeal. They waved banners, chanted hymns and 
seemed delighted with the beauty of the country through 
which they were passing. He had spent a night among 
them at a small village on the Rhone, and had been asked 


46 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


by many if they would not reach Jerusalem to-morrow. 
There did not seem to be many very little ones among 
them — though, to be sure, all were little enough — but 
boys and girls of about twelve or thirteen seemed to 
constitute the bulk of the army. All the town clus- 
tered about him with questions : had he seen the butch- 
er’s Jean, Victor’s Amande, Susette and Amaury ? 

“ How could he tell one child from another in that 
great crowd ? He did not even know who were from 
Rouen. Stop ! he remembered one tall young fellow 
with bright eyes who bade him give this to his dear 
mother, with Antoine’s love. He was a fellow any 
mother might be proud to own and grieve to be parted 
from.” 

Thus was the prophecy of Pere Ignatius fulfilled, and 
I was more glad that day that Antoine had learned to 
write than if one of those diamond-mines of which 
travelers in the East tell us had been opened at my feet. 
For was I not the proudest and most envied mother in 
Rouen that day ? Did not all the people crowd around 
me to know the contents of that precious parchment? 
Did not faces light up with expectancy as my eye ran 
along the roll, and grow pale with disappointment as no 
mention could be found of the name which trembled 
upon questioning lips? 

I followed a great crowd to the cathedral of Notre 
Dame and joined in the votive service of thanksgiving 
that the children were yet alive, well and so far pros- 
pered on their journey, and then I hurried home with 
my document to spend the long evening-hours in read- 
ing it aloud to thy father ; for, as thou knowest, not 
having been convent-bred like myself, he had never 


THE MOTHER'S TALE. 


47 


mastered the difficult art of reading. In this, indeed, 
he but resembled the great William and nearly all our 
Norman barons and nobles ; for when men live in stir- 
ring times or have many affairs to occupy their atten- 
tion, it is not to be expected that they will devote them- 
selves to those delicate matters which better befit women, 
schoolmen and priests. 

Thou shalt read the letter all by thyself to-morrow. 
It lies in my locked ivory casket, where it has been 
treasured ever since : I could not bear that stranger-eyes 
should gaze upon a relic so sacred. 

“ Put it away safely,” said thy father ; “ mayhap it is 
the last that thou wilt ever hear of our children.” 

And so it almost seems, for from that hour to this not 
one word has ever reached us of whether they be living 
or dead, whether reigning as princes in Jerusalem or 
sleeping on the sands of the desert. Five years have 
passed ; weary, anxious waiting has brought no satisfac- 
tion to the homes from whence the children went forth 
to the crusade. In other homes and other memories 
than mine forgetfulness has closed over their very names 
— only the mothers, I am sure, never forget. Life hur- 
ries onward, by the sweat of their brow men must earn 
their bread, other children — like thyself, Amalie — have 
grown up to fill the vacant places, and it would seem as 
if no one ever gave a thought to the bright five hun- 
dred who marched from Rouen on the 1st of June, 
1212. 

Thy father grew more and more moody in his later 
years. I think, as he prospered better in his trade — as 
Rouennerie, of which he was one of the first manufac- 
turers, grew greatly into demand, and plenty poured in 


48 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


upon us — that he would gladly have had more mouths 
to fill than thine and mine. 

“ Men say,” said he to me one day, “ that there has 
been foul play about the Children’s Crusade — that Lo- 
thario, count of Segno, who is now called Innocent III. 
— instigated a priest to personate the holy pilgrim who 
appeared to Stephen of Cloyes, and that his object was 
to arouse the flagging zeal of those who had ceased to 
care for the crusades and had grown sluggish in their 
attempts to reconquer the holy sepulchre. He is report- 
ed to have said, when he heard of the uprising, ‘ These 
boys shame us ; for, while they rush on to the recovery 
of the Holy Land, we sleep ;’ and he has since made 
use of their example to stir up the fainting courage of 
the great army which is now assembling at the call of 
the Lateran Council for the sixth crusade. Shepherds 
should not be murderers of the lambs if they would 
have devoted and obedient flocks. Is there not some- 
thing in the holy book whose keepers they are that 
prophesies woe to the idol-shepherds, those who make 
idols of their enterprises and offer to them in sacrifice 
the firstlings of the flock?” 

After this the father would go no more with me to 
the church ; he ever avoided the priests, and at length 
he died quite suddenly and all unshriven. 

“ No,” he said, in answer to my earnest entreaty that 
he would allow me to send for a holy father to perform 
the last rites; “I want no Church that cements its 
foundations with the blood of innocent children — no 
priesthood whose occupation it is to deceive.” 

My child, I fear greatly for the safety of thy father’s 
soul : I doubt if such high words against our holy 


THE MOTHER’S TALE. 


49 


Church can ever be forgiven ; but then I know what I 
have never told to any other ear than thine. My hus- 
band was not of Rouen — was not a Norman. He grew 
to manhood in the service of Count Raymond of Tou- 
louse and spent much time among the heretical Albi- 
genses. The dear Lord knows his temptations ; surely 
he will be more merciful than the councils and bishops 
would have been had they known what now we must 
never reveal. And thou and I, Amalie, must make 
many prayers at shrine and altar for his poor deceived 
soul. Perchance the virtue of the pilgrimages our chil- 
dren have made may be set down to his account, and 
Nannette, our own saint, may be even now joining her 
prayers for him with those of all the other saints and 
angels around the throne of heaven. — Was it for this, O 
Father of our spirits, that thou didst take from me that 
which was most dear to me ? — The thought comes like 
a ray of light amid my darkness ; and if this was to be 
the end, I repeat again with fuller consecration than 
before, * Deus vutt !’ — it is the will of God. 

4 



























BOOK II. 


THE PRECIOUS LETTER. 





























































































CHAPTER I. 


RETROSPECT. 

“ Ah ! say not, deem not, heavenly notes 
To childish ears are vain — 

That the young mind at random floats, 

And cannot reach the strain. 

Dim or unheard the words may fall, 

But still the Heaven-taught mind 
May learn the sacred air, and all 
Its harmonies unwind.” 

Keble. 
Vendome, June, 1212. 

M OTHER, dearest mother, how glad I am that good 
P§re Ignatius in the old home-days, already so dis- 
tant, taught me to write ! I did not like to learn to form 
the crabbed characters, and, had he not lightened the labor 
and shortened the hours with his marvelous tales of the 
old world, he could scarcely have held me to the task. 
But, thanks to his patient care, I am now able to do 
what hundreds of our young crusaders would be glad 
enough to do also — send thee tidings of how it fares with 
thy children in their march to the Holy Land. Thou 
must also thank my father for me; for, had he not 
given me the money thou knowest of, I could never 
have bought the parchments on which I am now tran- 
scribing from a young lay-brother of the monastery of St. 
Denis, who has joined us since we reached Vendome. I 

53 


54 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


fear the parchments were not honestly come by, for they 
bear the stamp of the convent library, and the young 
man could never have earned the money to purchase 
them. But I have learned many a trick of the ways 
of this wicked world since I left Rouen, and even there 
I knew that the monasteries were not the holiest and 
purest places that the land could show. I have a store 
of these parchments, and from time to time, as occasion 
shall serve, I will send thee tidings of all that may be- 
fall us, so that thou shalt almost believe thou hast gone 
on the crusade thyself — thou and little Amalie. 

We are all well and happy, though I think Nannette 
seems drooping. She is frequently fatigued before the 
day’s march is over ; she has no appetite for the coarse 
fare which the peasants are ever ready to give without 
stint to the Lord’s little soldiers. Thou hast brought 
us up too delicately, mother dearest, and no cookery can 
ever seem to us like thine. I fear the fever which at- 
tacked Nannette before we left Rouen has never quite 
left her. At times there is a wild, bright light in her 
eyes and a deep flush in her cheeks that I like not ; her 
skin has a fair, transparent look that it seems nothing 
will cloud, though most of us are burned brown with 
so much marching beneath the June sunshine. But 
she says it will be all right when she reaches Jerusa- 
lem, and that I must give thee her dear love and send 
a kiss to little Amalie, and say to thee that very soon 
she will send for thee to keep house for us upon the 
slopes of Mount Zion. I fear we have a long, weary 
march before us ere that can be, but I know no dread. 
The Lord is on our side, and we will show the faineants 
of France and Germany what boy-hearts and boy-arms 


THE PRECIOUS LETTER. 


55 


can accomplish. Then, when the children have taken 
the sepulchre, the men will awake to their duty, and 
soon the reign of Christ over all the earth will begin. 

Now that we are waiting at Vendome till the bands 
from all the cities and villages of France shall assem- 
ble, and Stephen himself shall join us and lead us to 
the borders of the sea, I have much time on my hands, 
and I will try to tell thee why I was so anxious to join 
the crusade. I feared thou wouldst think me unloving 
in being so ready to leave thee, and I tried many times 
to tell thee how I felt, but I could not. I think boys 
like rather to do than to talk, and the words seemed to 
stick in my throat whenever I tried to speak them. 

It is owing to thee, mother, that I ever thought much 
about the crusades. I remember how, when I was a 
very little fellow, thy stories were always about Jesus — 
his childhood in the Holy Land, his beautiful life there 
and his cruel death. Thou hast often told me of the infi- 
dels who held his sepulchre, of the sufferings his dear chil- 
dren were made to undergo when they went over land and 
sea to kneel at his shrine and to get absolution for their 
sins ; and when, in childish ignorance, I asked if there 
was no one to avenge their wrongs or protect them from 
the infidels, thou wouldst tell me of Peter the Hermit 
and Bernard of Clairvaux, who had stirred up Godfrey 
of Bouillon, Baldwin the Good, Tancred, and hosts of 
others who had wrought such glorious deeds in the cap- 
ture and defence of the Holy City, till I longed to grow 
up to be a Knight Templar or a Knight of St. John. 

But when I first went to St. Gervaise to take lessons 
from Pere Ignatius, a new idea took possession of my 
heart. Pere Ignatius is different from any one else I 


56 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


have ever known. He always taught me more from the 
sacred word than from the legends of the saints; he always 
chose those prayers which most directly addressed them- 
selves to God. Once, when I asked him, “ Art thou like 
my father, who maketh light of the saints?” he said, 
u Far be it from me, my son ! The holy saints dwell in a 
light unapproachable by a poor sinful mortal like me. I 
gaze in wonder and awe at the heights they have attained 
unto, and yet they were once men — struggling men like 
me. They overcame by the blood of the Lamb ; why 
should not we do the same ? To me the man, the suf- 
fering man, Christ Jesus, seems nearer and more sym- 
pathizing than the brightest seraph about the throne.” 
I did not quite understand him, and I tried often to 
think of what he could mean ; for it seemed to me that 
thy prayers, dearest mother, must move God to hear 
thee more than mine could, thou wert so holy and true, 
and yet thou wert constantly seeking the intercession of 
the saints, as if thou wert too unworthy to approach the 
throne of God thyself. And then, too, where would be 
the use of the saints at all if every one thought like 
Father Ignatius? But, to be sure, he is a holy monk, 
and that may make the difference. 

It grieved my dear teacher to see the sad state into 
which the Church he loved so much was everywhere 
falling. He said that the priests in the country villages 
were often so ignorant they did not understand one word 
of what they were saying in the mass, and that in some 
of the monasteries the sins and immoralities were greater 
even than those in the court of King Philip, of which 
every one spoke with a shudder. 

“ Look,” he would say, “ at the priests’ robes, stiff 


THE PRECIOUS LETTER. 


57 


with embroidery, at the gold and silver vessels used in 
the church services, and at all the money spent upon the 
magnificent churches, wrung out of the poor peasants 
who were forced to work so hard for the bread to put 
into their children’s mouths ! It was not so when the 
early Church met to worship in underground caverns 
and catacombs, when the holy apostles wandered from 
country to country, working with their bands for their 
support while they preached the everlasting gospel. It 
was not so when the meek Man of sorrows had not 
where to lay his head.” 

Older people imagine that children do not think, but 
often when I was weaving flower-wreaths with the girls 
or playing tournament or crusader with the boys on the 
green I was thinking about these things, and I came to 
imagine that God was angry with France, and had with- 
drawn his protection from his Church because men had 
left his holy sepulchre so long in the hands of the infi- 
dels, and that only when all the Christian people should 
be aroused to forsake home and friends and earthly goods, 
and break for ever the power of the Saracens, so that the 
true King might sit securely upon his throne at Jerusa- 
lem, would he bless our land with peace and plenty and 
the Church with holiness. 

One afternoon last winter — thou wilt remember it, 
mother, because I came home late that evening and 
thou didst chide me for keeping the supper waiting so 
long — I was passing the cathedral on my way to the 
usual lesson at St. Gervaise, when an uncommon noise 
inside attracted my attention and made me look in. A 
procession was advancing up the long aisle ; at its head 
were two men whom I knew to be a priest of St. Ouen 


58 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


and a clerk of the chapel of St. Gervaise. They were 
magnificently dressed in the archbishop’s and bishop’s 
sacred robes, and were followed by a crowd of priests, 
monks, novices and clerks, all shouting, dancing, run- 
ning, jumping and singing dreadful songs. Some were 
dressed in women’s clothes; some had on skins of animals, 
whose cries they mimicked ; some personated the kings 
and the princes of the land, and some the murderers and 
the robbers with which the forests are infested. They 
marched in procession round the church, stopping to 
make genuflexions and to sing wicked songs at the 
various altars and at the stations of the cross, and then, 
reaching the high altar, the mock-archbishop performed 
mass, the responses being given by the mock-bishop ; and 
while the sacred words proceeded from their lips their 
companions were eating, drinking and playing dice upon 
the holy altar. Some of them soon became intoxicated, 
and then their desecrations of the church were dreadful. 
Their old shoes were burned for incense, together with 
valuable books and parchments, and other deeds too 
horrible to relate were committed.* 

I could never enter the cathedral after that day with- 
out fancying I saw again those dreadful orgies and heard 
those immoral songs; every marble column suggested 
to my mind some act of indecency, and I could not look 
at the high altar without shuddering. 

When I spoke of it to my father afterward, he said, 

“ Yes, it is a ‘ feast of the fools ’ all the year round to 
these rascally priests and clerks, but on one day of the 
year they confess openly that which they endeavor to 
hide during the other three hundred and sixty-four. I 
* Feast of the Fools , or Innocents (Du Cange). 


THE PRECIOUS LETTER. 


59 


rather respect their outburst of honesty, but the mischief 
is that for their rare festival they make the whole de- 
luded people keep the feast of the innocents all the year 
round.” 

But I went that afternoon to St. Gervaise and told 
P£re Ignatius all about it, though I could scarcely speak 
for tears. 

“ Is this our holy religion,” said I — “ that for which 
martyrs suffered and died, that which our Lord left his 
throne of glory to bring to earth ?” 

“ No, my boy,” said he. “ Come with me, and I will 
show thee what our holy religion is ;” and he led me to 
the underground chapel of which thou knowest. Here 
he told me the whole story of holy St. Mello, who 
some time in the third — some say the second — century 
left his sunny Italian home and came to preach the 
gospel in the cold forests of Normandy. “ The heathen 
hated him, the Roman authorities persecuted him, but 
in poverty and suffering he still worked on, preaching 
ever the gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ, till he had 
gathered around him quite a little band of Christians, 
and then he laid down to sleep in this quiet resting- 
place, having first kindled a tiny spark of true religion 
which all the opposition of its enemies, the political 
combinations of after-ages and the later corruptions of 
the Church could never put out. This was the religion 
of the cross — a religion that through utter self-sacrifice, 
the result of perfect love, gave itself up in order that 
peace, happiness, purity and universal love might 
triumph and reign upon earth. The Church is the 
Church of Christ only so far as she is actuated by his 
blessed Spirit and walks obediently in his steps. Kneel, 


60 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS . 


my son,” said he, “ and swear before this simple altar at 
which I am wont to offer my devotions that when thou 
comest to manhood thou wilt devote thy life, as did 
St. Mello, to the cause of that gospel he preached, and 
to the purification and exaltation of that Church which 
Christ purchased with his precious blood.” 

I did not fully understand him, but, kneeling by his 
side, I swore, and he prayed that I might have grace to 
keep my vow ; and as I walked homeward that evening 
a voice seemed to be saying in my breast, “ Because men 
will not care for my tomb nor fight under my banners, 
therefore I will have none of their worship. I leave 
their sanctuaries to decay and let corruption creep in 
among their holiest things.” 

Thou seest now that I was just prepared to follow the 
call of Jacob of Hungary at his first preaching of the 
crusade. Here was the way of fulfilling my vow. The 
Lord had heard Pere Ignatius’s prayer. His great 
heart as well as ours was grieved at the state of Chris- 
tendom, and where men have failed because of their 
selfishness and sin, their greed for gain and their blood- 
thirstiness of spirit, children, with their loving natures, 
their purer consciences and their chivalrous self-devotion, 
should succeed in reconquering the holy sepulchre and 
in bringing back the Golden Age of the Church. 

Jacob said something else, about which I never spoke 
to thee lest thou shouldst deem the thought disrespectful 
to my father. He assured us that not only would the 
sins of all who went on the crusade be forgiven, but 
that they would also gain great mercy and blessing for 
all belonging to them. Thou, sweet mother, hadst no 
need that any should procure indulgences for thee, but 


THE PRECIOUS LETTER. 


61 


thou knowest how my father often speaks of the priests 
and the holy Church. I feared he might never reach 
the heavenly kingdom, and I thought perchance it 
might be given to his son to win for him an everlasting 
entrance into the golden gates of the Jerusalem which 
is above. 

Mother dearest, canst thou now forgive thy boy for 
leaving thee and his home? and dost thou see that it 
was not all boyish admiration for the music and the 
banners nor love of the promised glory which took 
him from thy side? 

But it is full time that thou shouldst hear how thy 
little ones reached Vendome. 

All were in high spirits that first of June when for 
the last time we looked upon our home. The sun 
shone brightly all day; the birds sang gladly on the 
trees even as we children sang in the ranks. When we 
were hungry, the people in the cottages along the road- 
side brought us out fresh bread with cans of new milk, 
and at night we slept upon the freshly-cut hay in the 
fields, too weary with our long walk to miss our accus- 
tomed beds. Nannette lay close to me, my wallet serv- 
ing for her pillow. She slept soundly, but once I heard 
her murmur in her sleep, “ I forgot to hear Amalie say 
her prayers.” 

We could hardly wait for daylight, so anxious were 
we to continue our journey, and by the time the sun rose 
the green turf by the roadside was dotted with gay 
groups marching southward and chanting their hymns 
of victory in anticipation already. Many of the little 
ones expected to be in Jerusalem before night, though 
all thought it such fun to sleep in the hay that they 


62 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


would gladly have done it again. That night, however, 
we found shelter and a good supper prepared for us at 
a large village; and we generally endeavored to reach 
some similar place before nightfall, though we were such 
a large party that the houses would seldom contain us all, 
and we boys were glad to sleep in barns or in the fields, 
and thus leave to the girls and the very little ones the 
comfort of beds. Everywhere that we passed the people 
came out to look at us ; priests blessed us from the doors 
of the churches as we journeyed by, and grave monks 
raised their heads and paused in telling their beads when 
we met them. 

At night the kind women would wash the children’s 
feet, for the little ones especially, who were unused to 
walking so much, complained bitterly of the sharp 
stones over which we sometimes passed. Indeed, many 
of them being barefoot — or, at best, wearing soft-leather 
sandals — would go limping along, their feet all bruised 
and bleeding. Thanks, mother dearest, for thy thought- 
ful care, which provided us with such strong wooden 
sabots that there is no fear of their wearing out for many 
a long day. But the children’s feet are hard enough 
now, and they walk eight or ten hours a day without 
feeling the fatigue more than they. once felt the walk to 
the Place de la Pucelle. 

The second day I became aware that a very beautiful 
little girl was walking quite near to Nannette and me. 
She looked to be about thirteen years old, shorter than 
I, for thou knowest that I will be fourteen in August. 
Her eyes were very black and her cheeks very red ; her 
shining dark hair floated around her face, and so airy 
were her movements that her little feet seemed scarcely 


THE PRECIOUS LETTER. 


63 


to touch the ground on which she walked. She was 
very richly dressed, and did not wear the gray mantle 
and the white cross of the little crusaders. There 
was something so stately in her air and her way of 
holding her head — albeit slightly tinged with a back- 
looking fear of being pursued — that I did not dare to 
speak to her. I felt that she did not belong to our 
rank in life, and might think me impertinent and obtru- 
sive ; but Yannette showed no such timidity. 

“ Who art thou,” she said, abruptly, “ and why goest 
thou upon the crusade without a pilgrim’s mantle and 
the sign of the holy cross ?” 

The girl blushed deeply, but answered Nannette’s 
questions as freely as they had been asked. 

“Dost thou not know me?” said she. “I know thee, 
and thy name and thy brother’s. I have often watched 
you playing on the green together, but then I was peep- 
ing through the blinds of the carriage ; so of course you 
could not see me. And I have seen you, also, in the 
cathedral and church of St. Ouen. You were both kneel- 
ing and saying prayers very devoutly, no doubt, while 
I — Oh, well, I don’t like prayers. I like to listen to 
the music and to look around at the paintings and the 
people — oh, such funny people as there are there some- 
times! — but then, if Madame la Fbre happens to raise 
her eyes, I am always modestly telling my beads and 
kissing my gold crucifix. See ! is it not pretty ?” said 
she, holding out a beautiful thing attached to a long 
gold chain — the image of the suffering Saviour so cov- 
ered up with jewels as scarcely to be visible. 

“Very pretty,” said we both; for neither of us had 
ever before seen anything half so rich. 


64 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


“ But,” added Nannette, “ you have not told me your 
name.” 

“My name — you will not tell Madame le Fere? 
She would punish me for speaking with children of the 
canaille — is Bertholde, Bertholde de Tourville — and I 
live, or did live, with my gouvernante , Madame la F&re, 
in the great chateau on the hill across the Seine. But I 
am never going back there any more. I have no mantle 
and cross because I have no mother to make them for 
me, and because I have run away from the chateau ; and 
no one knows I am here. Oh, wouldn’t Madame la 
Fere beat me and set me hard tasks if she caught me ! 
But you will not tell, will you ? I know only you here. 
I don’t care anything about the other children, but I 
mean to go with you and talk with you, and we will all 
sleep together in the hay. How nice and soft it felt last 
night ! Is it not gai to see the children marching and 
the banners flying, and to hear the music, and to see the 
peasants staring at us as we pass ? How can people be 
so stupid as to stay shut up in castles learning to act like 
noblesse , to walk so, and courtesy so, and braid one’s 
hair, when there is such a free life as this ? I don’t see 
why I was made a duke’s daughter, when I would so 
much rather be a peasant or belong to the armorer or 
cloth-weaver at Rouen. If I had made the world, as 
the priests say the good God did, I would not have shut 
up little girls in castles with cross old ladies. But then 
I don’t believe he is good at all, or else why does he not 
let us do just as we please?” 

Of course, though rather shocked at this last senti- 
ment, we could not refuse to let the young lady remain 
in our company, since she desired it ; and, as she had no 


THE PRECIOUS LETTER. 


65 


brother to take care of her and we were three boys — 
Richard, Robin and myself — we promised to guard her 
from all danger and help her over hard places, and to 
be brothers to her if she would put up with our rough 
ways. 

Richard seemed especially taken with her. He asked 
her if she had ever seen the stone which marks the spot 
where the heart of his hero, Richard Coeur de Lion, is 
buried in the cathedral, and, finding that she had and 
was interested in the stone effigy which stands above it, 
he chatted away with her quite confidingly about the 
ISTorman conquest of England. I never before heard 
him speak so many words to a girl. 

Nannette, too, is very much interested in Bertholde, 
and it is to her that Bertholde has told her story by 
degrees as they sat by the roadside in the evenings or 
rested under the forest trees at noon. There is a queenly 
way about our new friend that compels us all to do as 
she wishes, and yet there is a generosity that makes her 
shrink from taking advantage of her higher position. 
Nannette and I were both astonished at the light way 
in which she at first spoke of the crusade. 

“ ‘ Jerusalem 9 \” said she. “Ah yes! Jerusalem is 
very fine, but I would rather see Paris. Paris is belle. 
M. mon Papa would never let me see Paris, and 
Madame la Fere said I must wait till I grew up ; but we 
will go through Paris, shall we not ? Why not go to 
St. Denis’s ? I know many pilgrims go there. That 
will do as well as Jerusalem.” 

Kannette opened her blue eyes at this, and I think 
she has ever since been trying to invent some way by 
which she can interest Bertholde in the holy sepulchre, 


66 THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 

and, indeed, about the Lord himself, for Bertholde seems 
to know and care nothing about religion. Alas ! she had 
no mother to teach as thou with such patient care hast 
taught us. 


1 


CHAPTER II. 

BERNHARD THE GERMAN. 

u He grasps his pilgrim-staff and onward hies, 

Hope in his smile and courage in his eyes.” 

Karl Gerok. 

June 25. 

I HAVE made a new friend, dearest mother — one 
whom I am sure thou wouldst love. I hope, some 
day, when, having conquered the Holy City, we march 
in triumph to our homes, to present the German Bern- 
hard to thee as a second son ; or if one of us dies in the 
conflict with the Saracens, the other has solemnly prom- 
ised that he will bear the tidings homeward, and that 
whichever of us is left will be as a son unto thee. This 
is our compact of brotherhood, sworn to upon our white 
crosses by the white moonlight here at Venddme. 

Bernhard is a year older than thine Antoine. His 
fair hair and light-blue eyes make his face appear 
almost like that of a girl, but in his broad shoulders and 
his firmly-knit frame there is a manliness and strength 
that does not appear in our lighter and more agile 
French boys. He loves most to sit in stillness, rarely 
speaking except when spoken to, in this and in some other 
points resembling our cousins Richard and Robin, with 
whose Saxon ancestors, indeed, he saith his own had 
some affinity. Bernhard thinks much of this matter of 

67 


68 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


ancestry, and well he may, for he is noble, his grand- 
father having been the famous count Bernhard, who, 
following the emperor Conrad to the second crusade, 
fell before the enemy in Cappadocia, being, with the 
whole of his command, cut off from the main body of 
the army and destroyed. Bernhard's father — a second 
son of the old count — has long been dead, and he and 
his sister were brought up by the count their uncle in 
his castle of Hohenseck, on the Bhine. The old cru- 
sader's sword, recovered and brought home by his squire, 
hung ever above the door of the castle-hall, and in his 
childish days Bernhard was wont to look at it with 
great reverence and admiration. The squire, now quite 
aged and become seneschal of the castle, was wont to 
pass away the long winter evenings by recounting to 
these children stories of his master's wonderful prow- 
ess and achievements, his devotion to the holy cross 
and the sure entrance into heaven which he had found 
while fighting its battles on sacred soil. 

Bernhard says that for years he has longed for the 
time to come when he should be old enough to bear his 
grandfather's sword and tread in his footsteps along the 
pathway to glory. Often, when very little children, 
have he and his sister Greta, seated on their favorite 
rock overlooking the beautiful river, planned what they 
would do when that time came. Greta never dreamed 
of being left behind, for did not Queen Eleanor of 
France accompany her lord King Louis to Jerusalem, 
showing herself always as energetic and capable of en- 
during fatigue as he? When news of the preaching of 
Nicholas and of the projected crusade of the children 
was brought to the castle, he felt as if his longed-for 


THE PRECIOUS LETTER. 


69 


time had come, and, stealing away early one morning, 
he went to Cologne, listened to a sermon of Nicholas in 
the chnrch of the Three Kings and enrolled his name 
among those of the crusaders. Returning the same 
evening, he went directly to his uncle and told him 
what he had done. The count looked surprised, but 
made no remonstrance; indeed, Bernhard thinks that 
his uncle — a stern, cold man who scarcely ever spoke a 
word to the children — felt them to be an encumbrance 
and was rather glad of this opportunity of getting at 
least one of them off his hands. But when Greta 
heard of her brother’s determination, she resolutely 
declared that she would go too. Had not Bernhard 
always promised that she should ? Had they ever been 
separated? There was no danger; there would be no 
difficulties greater than those she had already encoun- 
tered. Indeed, was it not said that Nicholas had seen 
a vision direct from heaven which assured him that the 
mountains would all be lowered, the rivers all dried 
up and the sea opened for the passage of the children ? 
And, since she insisted so strongly and there was no one 
to say her nav, what could her brother do, though sorely 
against his better judgment, than to promise to shield 
his sister from all the dangers of the pilgrimage, so far 
as his boyish strength might serve to do so, aud let her 
go? Had Greta been either beautiful or engaging, so 
that in future years her hand would have been sought 
by noble knights whose lands or possessions would have 
added glory to his name, it is quite possible that her 
uncle might have interfered. But poor Greta is very 
plain. Her hair is of an ashen rather than a golden hue, 
and is covered with no cap like that of our Norman 


70 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


maidens; her eyes are of a pale-yellowish tint, while 
her complexion, which, like those of other Germans, 
might be fair, is bronzed by her neglected out-of-door 
life among the forests which border the Rhine. The 
count knew that, dowerless and unbeautiful as she is, 
only a convent could be her future home, and perchance 
one might be found in Palestine where no such en- 
trance-fee would be claimed as that which in Germany 
would be expected from the noble count Bernhard of 
Hohenseck. At least, so Bernhard thinks. He bears 
little affection for his uncle. 

The count, however, for the dignity of his family, 
would not allow his brother’s children to leave their 
house as the children of the peasants and artisans did ; 
so, though as pilgrims their journey must needs be per- 
formed on foot, he sent with them a serving-man leading 
a sumpter-mule laden with all that he considered needful 
for the journey. Thus attended, the two children joined 
the bands which Nicholas was rapidly collecting at Co- 
logne. Their ceremonies at parting were so nearly similar 
to ours that I need not weary thee with an account of 
them. They missed two things, however, the memory 
of which is our shield in every danger — our mother’s 
parting kiss and the blessing of P£re Ignatius. 

The trumpets sounded, the banners waved, and an 
army of nearly twenty thousand children, leaders, serv- 
ants, priests and hangers-on issued forth from Cologne. 
But it soon became apparent that all were not proceeding 
in the same direction. About half the army, headed by 
a leader whose name Bernhard had never heard, crossed 
the Rhine, and, marching away from its banks, were 
soon lost sight of among the fields and the vineyards, 


THE PRECIOUS LETTER. 


71 


taking their course toward Hungary, whither Peter the 
Hermit led his first crusaders to martyrdom and to death. 
Bernhard and Greta, however, remained with that divis- 
ion — led by Nicholas himself — which followed the western 
bank of the Rhine southward to the foot of the Alps. 
He has told me much of their difficulties and dangers 
by the way. The country was generally very wild and 
but little inhabited ; dense forests and rocky crags con- 
tinually stood across their way. Dangers from wild 
beasts in the forests and from wild barons in the castles 
by which they passed continually menaced them ; hun- 
ger and thirst, sunshine and storm, daily added to the 
sufferings of those who were not, like Bernhard and 
Greta, provided with the contents of a mule’s panniers. 
Robbers and thieves had somehow crept into the cav- 
alcade, and daily the money and the food of the poor 
children were stolen from them, while scenes of riot 
and confusion were of constant occurrence. The very 
leaders, instead of enforcing order, spent their time in 
disputes as to who should be first, and destruction 
threatened the whole army. Many of the rivers had 
no bridges, and in fording these the children often lost 
their footing and were drowned, while occasionally some 
outlaw would descend from the mountains with a formi- 
dable band of men-at-arms and carry off numbers of the 
children — especially the girls — into captivity. 

But from the moment that the passage of Mont Cenis 
began to be talked of Bernhard felt that it would be 
impossible for them to cross in safety. The story of 
the toilsome passage of their emperor Henri IV. was 
still fresh in the minds of the Germans. This had 
been related to Bernhard, and, having already expe- 


72 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


rienced some of the difficulties of crossing the lower 
hills by which the great Alps are surrounded, his 
judgment decided that it would be impossible to pro- 
ceed in safety. 

“ I did not fear for myself/’ said Bernhard. u Have 
not I climbed the most inaccessible crag of the Drachen- 
fels and carried off the young eaglets before their fierce 
mother’s eyes ? Have not I ridden the most fiery horse 
in my uncle’s stables around the tilt-ground and run a 
joust with even the master-at-arms himself? But I 
could not expose my little sister, who has no one in this 
wide world to care for her but me, to the risk of freezing 
to death upon the mountain, of being dashed to pieces 
by some roaring waterfall, of slipping from the edge of 
some awful precipice and lying in a mangled mass below. 
Or, should I fall a victim to any of these catastrophes, 
who would watch over Greta when I was gone ?” 

So, reluctantly and sadly, the two, followed by the 
mule and the serving-man, turned their steps homeward 
and traversed again the plains and villages through 
which they had passed a few days or weeks before. 
Many other fugitives joined or passed them in groups 
of two or three, in companies of fifties or in solitary 
sadness seeking their homes and their mothers. But all 
met with very different treatment now. The inhabitants, 
who had been hostile before, when the presence of vast 
numbers and the expectation of success intimidated 
them, were open in their enmity now that from time to 
time a few defenceless individuals fell into their power, 
while the friendly disposed, whose enthusiasm for the 
crusade had led them to shower comforts and kindnesses 
upon the crusaders, now met them with reproaches for 


THE PRECIOUS LETTER . 


73 


their cowardice and with scorn for their weakness. 
Many children were captured, and were either carried 
to the castles as servants or apprenticed to the trades- 
men of the villages and towns. Some lay down by the 
roadside and died of actual starvation and exhaustion, 
while their companions, unable to bury them, turned 
away with tears and left their bodies to the storms and 
the vultures.* 

But Bernhard and Greta, thanks to the contents of 
the panniers carried by the sumpter-mule, and to the 
well-known livery of the counts of Hohenseck worn by 
their serving-man, fared better than the majority of 
their companions, and soon arrived in good health and 
spirits at the town of Coblenz. Here a council was 
held. Bernhard had become very much exhausted with 
the constant taunts of cowardice and inconstancy which 
had assailed him so often upon his homeward way. He 
feared facing his stern uncle, to whom he felt sure his 
return would be unwelcome, and hearing the same 
taunts repeated by his lips. The story of Stephen and 
the young French crusaders now gathering at Ven- 
dome was on everybody’s lips, and with sudden deter- 
mination Bernhard resolved to join their forces, and 
thus be true to his vow. 

But here the serving-man interposed. He would not 
go to France ; he had had enough of crusading ; no 
vow bound him ; his master’s orders were to march 
with the army of Nicholas, and Stephen was not in the 
bond. The children would all come to destruction 
somewhere ; he believed the whole thing was a cunning 
device of the evil one. As for him — the serving-man — • 
* Gray. 


74 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


he had had dealings enough with the evil one ; he pre- 
ferred to die in his bed when he must die, and for the 
present the comforts of his home at Hohenseck seemed 
much more attractive than wandering about the country- 
leading a mule after two crazy children. Besides, the 
mule needed rest, and, his panniers being quite empty, he 
was of no further use to the expedition. For his part, 
if his young master would not accompany him back to 
Hohenseck, he would even go alone. 

Bernhard then attempted to persuade Greta too to go 
back, telling her that her uncle would gladly receive 
her, and that they had both seen enough to know that a 
crusading army was no place for girls. But Greta was 
as resolute as ever ; no persuasions could induce her to 
leave her brother. She told him of a vision of cranes 
she had seen the night before straining their long necks 
toward the east in token that she must go in that direc- 
tion, of a donkey which had passed her with a perfect 
representation of the crucifix upon its back, and a 
French cat with long gray fur just the color of her 
crusading-mantle, and a beautiful white Maltese cross 
marked upon its breast. Greta had great faith in signs, 
and was sure that by all these the saints had directed 
her to continue her pilgrimage to the Holy Land. 
Moreover, she was sure, she said, that the French army 
would be very different from the German, since the 
French were a much more polished and Christian people. 

So the conference ended by the serving-man’s leading 
the mule over the Roman bridge which crosses the Rhine, 
and around the Drachenfels, on his way to Hohenseck, 
while the noble grandchildren of the great count Bernhard 
took their way like veritable pilgrims, entirely dependent 


THE PRECIOUS LETTER. 


75 


upon staff and scrip, along the banks of the blue Mo- 
selle toward Vendome. Everywhere they met bands 
en route for the great gathering-place, and, joining them- 
selves to these, at length found themselves in our beau- 
tiful camp. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE MUSTER AT VENDdME. 


“ Say not the waiting-hours of life are vain, 

Since every tent we pitch upon the plain 
Must soon be struck and carried to the van ; 

But use them bravely as they speed away : 

New friends, new hearts, new faces, every day, 

New phase of life, we scan.” 

July 1. 

T HIS waiting is very tedious, especially to Nannette, 
who is consumed with an insatiable desire to see 
the Holy Land; but there is much to interest us while 
here, and, on the whole, our days and nights pass 
merrily. Nannette says I must tell thee about the 
beautiful hymns which the children all sing in concert, 
and which float upon the still air of the summer nights 
in the silvery moonlight or break from their lips at the 
rosy flush of dawn before the sun kisses the flowers 
awake, and about the golden sunsets when the orb of 
day sinks out of sight far off into the great western 
sea. Thou knowest what an eye our Nannette ever 
had for the beautiful. 

Bertholde says that if she had a mother to whom to 
write she would describe the curious costumes of the 
different bands of children as they keep pouring in from 
all the towns and villages of France. They vary more in 
the forms of headdresses than in anything else, especially 

76 


THE PRECIOUS LETTER . 


77 


those of the girls. Some wear capuchins, which quite 
hide their faces and are tied around their necks behind ; 
some, tall caps with points resembling the new moon, 
but the priests tell us that these must be changed before 
we reach the Holy Land, or we shall be accused of 
favoring the crescent while sworn to defend the cross. 
I quite miss thy bourgoin , dear mother, which used to 
look so grand and stately on holidays, with its delicate 
lace lapels, and thy housewifely pockets with the store- 
key hanging therefrom — that key which meant so many 
good things to us hungry children. The few German 
girls among us, and those from Alsace and Lorraine and 
Franche-Compt6, wear only their own beautiful hair 
braided in a crown about their heads. The foot-cover- 
ings differ widely also. The peasants’ child ren from the 
village and the interior country wear wooden sabots like 
ours ; those from the towns often have leather sandals, 
such as we used to wear on Sundays and feast-days at 
Rouen ; while the gentry and the noblesse have delicate 
shoes which I fear will not do them much service in the 
long march from here to the Holy City. But Bern- 
hard’s and Greta’s feet are perfectly bare ; they have 
never worn a shoe in their lives, and Bernhard assures 
me that scarcely a child of the vast host which left 
Cologne set out otherwise than barefoot. 

Every day now brings us new arrivals, and the white 
pavilions are nearly all inhabited : banners float from their 
roofs, and sounds of gay voices come from the inside, 
especially at night. Mother, I like not all the sounds, 
nor all the people who come hither. Our camp is not 
all full of children ; there are traveling merchants who 
sell their goods at an exorbitant price, and who intend 


78 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


accompanying our march. Some of them look as if 
they were capable of driving a very unequal trade 
should they meet with some of our little ones alone in a 
dark corner. Bertholde has sold her beautiful gold ear- 
rings to one of these fellows for a pair of wooden sabots , 
which, indeed, she sadly needed, for her poor little feet 
are all bruised and bleeding from the stones, and long 
ago her delicate little slippers were worn through in 
holes. But when one of these traders tried to make 
Nannette give him her string of gold beads for some 
trifle one day, she said, 

“ They were my mother’s, and I promised to lay 
them on the holy sepulchre.” 

There are men here, too, who teach the boys to play 
games of chance, and in the long days and nights, when 
there is so little to do, we hear the dice-boxes rattle and 
the eager voices call out the numbers for hour after 
hour. I fear the teachers get all the money — that 
is, all which the children have brought from home 
with them. I met a poor little fellow crying bitterly 
because he had lost a crown — his grandfather’s gift — at 
dice. But he brightened up presently and said, 

“ Well, crusaders don’t need any money : the Lord will 
send ravens to feed us as he did Elijah.” 

What he says is to some extent true, for the people 
are very kind to us, and, though there are so many of 
us, we have always plenty to eat. Every day the fisher- 
men bring us in quantities of fish of different kinds; 
the countrywomen come bearing baskets of fruit on 
their heads ; peasant-children appear with great cans of 
milk and round white cheeses ; and the good people of 
VendOme bake us all the bread that we can possibly 


THE PRECIOUS LETTER. 


79 


eat. They have always a pleasant word and a blessing 
for us, and when we thank them say they are doing it 
x for the dear Lord, and if the children are brave enough 
to rescue his sepulchre from the infidels, those who stay 
at home must share the blessing by taking good care of 
them by the way. One result of this is that we have 
a great many beggars in our camp. They find it easier 
to get food and alms in this way than by wandering 
round alone, because people are so much more ready to 
give to the children ; so we have crowds of them join- 
ing us every day, and they announce their intention of 
accompanying us even to Jerusalem itself. This would 
not be so bad if they did not often beg from the very 
children themselves, and sometimes our little ones go 
supperless to bed that some fat beggar may have the 
more in his bag. 

This happened to Nannette once — or would have hap- 
pened if we had not all insisted on sharing our supper 
with her. She said that an old man with a long gray 
beard met her, and, holding out his hand, demanded 
charity. 

“ But I have no money,” said Nannette. 

“ Thou hast that cake of white bread and that can of 
milk, little one.” 

“ That is my supper, and I am hungry.” 

“ An thou wouldst not give thy supper to Jesus, when 
he sends for it by me, thou art no worthy soldier to fight 
for his sepulchre.” 

Then our Nannette — thou knowest her — gave the old 
man all that she had, and came to us her eyes aflame 
with the deep light thou so well rememberest, murmur- 
ing, “ For Jesus ! all for Jesus !” But our cousin 


80 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


Robin, coming in, told us of a scene he had just beheld 
wherein a rollicking young fellow pulled off a long white 
false beard and amid peals of laughter explained to a 
group of companions how he had begged away the sup- 
pers of a dozen children, telling them that the Lord 
Jesus had sent him to them, and how they all sat down 
to enjoy the fruits of his profitable labors. We did not 
tell Nannette. It is Robin who has advised me to tell thee 
what we have to eat. Dost thou remember how ready 
both our twin-cousins ever were for dinner-time, and 
how large a portion of thy nicely-cooked gateaux they 
would consume? 

There are worse sights than these among our com- 
pany, mother. I would sometimes that Nannette were 
safe beneath thy wing in the dark old house in the Rue 
d’Amboise, and I like not to see the bright, questioning 
eyes of Bertholde fixed upon them. Sometimes in the 
long nights I think and question again as I used to do 
at Rouen. It seems the “ feast of the fools” over 
again. Can the Lord, with whom is all the power, 
permit these dreadful things in his own army going 
forth to fight his battles? Can he bless our banners 
and prosper our work, when we have such companions? 
Yet even when he was upon earth there was one Judas 
among his chosen friends; perhaps it must continue to 
be so till we have taken Jerusalem and set up the cross 
upon Mount Zion, and then Christ shall reign every- 
where and nothing that can do or look or think evil 
can enter into the city. 

Meanwhile, Bernhard and Richard and Robin and 
I have entered into a league to protect our girls from 
all harm, and sworn to it, like good knights, upon 


THE PRECIOUS LETTER. 


81 


the crosses on our shoulders ; so, mother dearest, Nan- 
nette and Greta aud Bertholde are as safe in our keep- 
ing and the Lord’s as if thou wert watching them all 
in Nannette’s bedchamber at home. 

I wish thou couldst look at us just now. The moon- 
light is so bright that I am writing by its beams. Rich- 
ard and Robin lie on the ground on one side of me, and 
Bertholde sits on the other. She likes to sit there, she 
says, and hold my inkhorn, and I think the ink hath a 
better color when she looketh into it with her shining 
black eyes. She has been very amusing this evening, 
contradicting Richard’s stories of his favorite hero, who 
she thinks was a very stupid lion to let himself be killed 
in fighting for a little castle not so big as hers of Tour- 
ville, and suggesting all sorts of ludicrous positions in 
which Bernhard’s crusadiug ancestors must have found 
themselves. Next to her sits Greta, looking fixedly at 
her, unable to see the fun, horrified at what she considers 
the irreverence, but fascinated, as she always is whenever 
Bertholde speaks. But they are all silent now, for, just 
opposite me, Nannette, who is leaning her head against 
Bernhard — she always leans against some one now — is 
talking about Jerusalem. 

I don’t quite understand why it is that Nannette 
always thinks of such different things from the rest of 
us in connection with the Holy City. I always picture 
to myself the mail-clad warriors, the roar of the battle, 
the shrieks of the wounded and the shouts of the victo- 
rious knights, but Nannette sees golden streets, gates of 
pearl and feathery palm trees, and describes them to us 
as if she were looking at them. Just now she has 
been telling the whole story of the Crucifixion — not as 


82 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS . 


if it happened long ages ago, but as if she saw it all 
at the present moment and were explaining it to us who 
cannot see it. Bernhard scarcely dares to breathe, for 
fear of disturbing Nannette; tears are in Bertholde’s 
laughing eyes, her bosom is heaving and her lips are 
half unconsciously forming the words “Jesus, Saviour! 
For me!” 

And now they are singing together an evening hymn 
— not, as usual, “ Jerusalem the Golden,” but one which 
they have somehow picked up on the journey. 


CHAPTER I Y. 
ARRIVALS. 


“ The living— they shall praise thee, O living Lord, the best : 
The dead lie sleeping dumbly with hands across the breast ; 
But toil we that the living may enter into rest.” 


July 4. 



EWS, mother, news ! Stephen is coming. He will 


-L-' be here to-morrow, the lieutenants tell us, and with 
him a great company of the nobles and gentry to see us 
off. We are really to set out in three days, and all is 
bustle and activity. We were marshaled out in order 
to-day, the bands from each district by themselves, their 
banners floating ahead. The lieutenants numbered us, 
and there were thirty thousand * children. Thirty thou- 
sand ! Only think of that, mother ! Nothing can resist 
us. The walls of the city will fall before us as those of 
Jericho fell before God’s ancient people; the hateful 
crescent will sink at the very sight of our many crosses, 
and Jerusalem will be speedily delivered by the chil- 
dren’s arms. Then we shall come home, or thou wilt 
come to us, Nannette says, and all will be joy and peace. 
I asked our lieutenant, Jacob, how far it was from Ven- 
d6me to Jerusalem, but he knew not ; only he said that 
in a very few days we should be there, and even the 
youngest would not get tired by the way. 


* Albericus, Vincent de Beauvais, etc. 


83 


84 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS . 


Bernhard shakes his head at this. He says it was 
many more than a few days before the German chil- 
dren reached the foot of the Alps, where he and Greta 
left them, and then it must have taken a long while for 
them to reach the sea, even if they have yet got there. 
I shall not have much time to write now, mother, but, as 
I have not yet found a messenger by whom to send my 
epistle, I will add a few words every day to let thee 
know how we fare. 

July 5. 

Stephen has come, looking like a great prince, in a 
beautiful gilded car drawn by four milk-white horses 
and surrounded by a number of noble-looking boys on 
horseback. These are some of the highest French 
nobility, who have resolved to go on the crusade, not- 
withstanding they are forbidden by the king. They 
bear lances and spears, and their accoutrements are of 
the richest kind ; jewels are on their persons, and gold 
and gems adorn the trappings of their horses. At first 
I liked not this state ; it seemed to me that all crusaders 
should be pilgrims also, and that no pilgrim should 
travel in better state than his poorest companions, but 
Jacob says that we shall be more like an army, and that 
the people in the places through which we are to pass 
will pay us more respect if they see our leader in the 
midst in a style worthy of a general of the Lord’s 
armies. Some of our boys also think that the infidels 
will yield to us more willingly when they see the 
gilded chariot and the white palfreys dashing upon their 
ranks. I doubt if this will prove to be the case, but 
already it has had a good effect upon our little warriors. 
The most desponding are all now full of enthusiasm. 


THE PRECIOUS LETTER. 


85 


A few days ago mauy were disheartened, tired of wait- 
ing and resolved to go home ; in fact, many, especially 
of the younger ones, ran away. But to-day no one could 
be induced to leave. Every eye is bright ; triumphant 
songs echo through the camp, and one would suppose that 
to-morrow was to be the final day of victory rather 
than the commencement of our long march. 

I have had only one good look at Stephen. He is 
younger than I am — not much more than twelve years 
old — but he has the same earnest, dreamy look we have 
all so often noticed in Nannette’s eyes. How wonderful 
it must be to have really seen and talked with Christ 
himself! They say that Stephen cannot write, nor 
could he read the letter which the Lord gave him to de- 
liver to the king ; but then — and that is far better than 
any earthly knowledge — he often has visions and trances 
in which Jesus appears to him and tells him what to do 
and say; and after such privileged moments his elo- 
quence is so great that no one can listen to him without 
tears. He is a singular-looking boy, with long fair 
hair bleached by the sun and skin bronzed by the same 
cause, for thou knowest that our leader was but a 
shepherd-boy, and it was while keeping his father’s 
sheep at Cloyes that the blessed Pilgrim who was none 
other than his Lord appeared unto him. 

Nannette is in raptures that Stephen has come and that 
we are really to set out at last, but she is disappointed 
in him. She says she expected him to be as beautiful 
as one of the painted angels in the cathedral, with a 
golden halo round his head, but that he is only like 
other boys, after all ; and Bertholde thinks he is not 
nearly so handsome as some boys she knows, especially 


86 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


one. Where can she have known any boys, when 
Madame la Fere kept her so strictly ? Perhaps she 
means Bernhard, but it doesn’t seem to me that she can 
consider him handsome, and, besides, she likes dark hair 
the best. Kannette is enraptured with the brilliant 
curtains and the gay trappings of the horses and 
chariots; she says it would be very nice to travel all 
the weary way to Jerusalem in that easy manner. Poor 
little sister ! I wish it were in our power to have her 
ride also. I fear she will grow very tired of our long, 
long walk. She seemeth not so strong as she was wont 
to be in Bouen, though, for that matter, she is so light 
that Bernhard or I could easily carry her all the way, 
and we intend to do so whenever she seems to be 
fatigued. 

July 7. 

We set out at noon to-day. This is good news indeed, 
but I have other news which I know will please thee 
still better ; even I am so glad that I can hardly think 
of Jerusalem. I know thou wilt not be troubled for us 
now, for wherever we go there will be one strong, 
loving friend to care for and protect thy children, and 
Nannette will have better care than our boyish love can 
give her. Thou dost guess who is our new-found yet 
old dearly-loved friend. But I will tell thee how it all 
happened. 

Since we have been at Yendome many priests have 
joined our company. A cross is erected near the centre 
of the camp, and each morning mass is sung there, all 
the children kneeling around the cross in circles. Every 
evening also the holy fathers call us to vespers, and it 
would rejoice thine ears to hear our vesper-hymn rising 


THE PRECIOUS LETTER . 


87 


upon the still air. The good people of Venddrae say 
that it seems as though the angels had come down from 
heaven again to sing, “ Glory to God in the highest, and 
on earth peace, good-will toward men.” Last night, 
after the others had dispersed, Nannette and I lingered 
a short time to look at the moonlight, when, turning 
toward the cross, we saw a man clad like one of 
our own good fathers of St. Gervaise. The familiar 
dress carried back our thoughts to home — for all our 
priests are chiefly from the country round Paris and 
from the South — and we drew nearer ; then, seeing that 
he sat with his head bowed, as if from fatigue, Nannette 
stepped up to him, laid her hand upon his shoulder and 
said in a gentle little voice, 

“Can we do anything to help thee? If thou art 
hungry, I will get thee some supper. Art thou going to 
Jerusalem to reconquer the holy sepulchre?” 

The priest raised his head. I was a few steps off*, but 
I heard Nannette give a wild scream, and saw her trem- 
ble all over and then fall as if powerless into his arms. 
I stepped forward to rescue her, but found myself also 
clasped to the heart of — Pere Ignatius ! I cannot tell 
thee any more about it; I believe we all wept and 
laughed and shouted together. 

Bearing Nannette in his arms, our dear kind father 
followed us to our tent, where our little company sat 
waiting for our last evening talk. There he told us all 
how he had thought of us night and day, especially of 
Nannette; how he had pictured all the dangers to which 
we might be exposed with no one to protect and defend 
us, and how at last he could bear it no longer and in 
the silence of night stole away from his cell, leaving 


88 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


all his precious manuscripts behind. As thou knowest, 
he had no money, so he was forced to beg his way from 
Kouen to Vendome, and, as he was also obliged to travel 
much by night and to avoid all towns where the dress 
of his order might lead to his recognition, his route was 
very circuitous, and he reached us only this evening, so 
fatigued and famished that he was fain to rest by the cross 
a while ere he sought us. Mother, thou wilt not let the 
prior of St. Gervaise know where he is, wilt thou ? He 
says that in case he is discovered, having left the priory 
without the permission of his superior, he will be forced 
to return, be degraded from the priesthood, and be called 
to eudure the strictest discipline. He would not at first 
have me tell thee of his flight, but I pleaded so hard, 
knowing how greatly thy anxiety would be relieved 
thereby, that he gave his permission, and I promised for 
thee that thou wilt sacredly guard his secret. 

Bertholde had a little fright of her own at the unex- 
pected appearance of Pere Ignatius. AVe were all so 
occupied with him that the absence of Bertholde was at 
first unnoticed, but, soon seeing that she was not with our 
party, I went to seek her, and with some difficulty found 
her at last, sobbing violently, in a dark corner of the 
tent. 

“ Has Madame la Fere come too ?” she said. “Will 
they take me back to Tourville? Will they make me 
marry the lord Marigny ? But I will not go. I am 
not noble ; I am one of the children of the people. I 
am a crusader; they cannot take me back.” 

Then, springing up, she threw her arms around my 
neck and sobbed out, 

“ Thou wilt not let me go, Antoine — thou wilt not ! 


THE PRECIOUS LETTER. 


89 


The priest shall not have me, shall he ? Say thou wilt 
keep thy Bertholde ! Say so, Antoine !” 

Then, suddenly drawing back and hiding her face in 
her hands, she ran and sat down with her head in Nan- 
nette’s lap. 

Later, when the girls had gone to sleep, I told Pere 
Ignatius how glad and thankful I was that he loved 
us so much as to leave his home and come all this 
way for our sakes, “ and for the sake of the crusades,” 
added I. 

“ Nay, my son,” said he. “ I love the living better 
than I love the dead. I need not wander off to Jeru- 
salem in order to find my Master and my Lord — who 
has promised to be with his people to the end of the 
world — or to fight his battles, but I am following in 
his footsteps whenever I can obey his command and 
i feed his lambs so I will go with you to Jerusalem, 
even to the empty sepulchre which could not hold my 
living Lord. Better the living than the dead.” 

I do not quite understand our dear father, and I told 
him so. 

“ Surely,” said I, “ it is a dead Christ which hangs 
ever upon the rood as we kneel before it?” 

“ Even so, my son,” said he ; “ it was the darkness 
of Good Friday which brought the sunshine of Easter 
morning. Keep thou ever close to the cross, and in due 
time thou shalt know all the rest.” 


CHAPTER Y. 
ON THE ROAD. 


“The royal banners forward go; 

The cross shines forth in mystic glow: 
Whom by the cross Thou dost restore 
Preserve and govern evermore.” 


Vexilla Regis. 


JUEY. 


E are fairly on our way. Mother, it was a grand 



* " sight as we left Vendome, only we who were in 
the ranks could not see it. I would that thou couldst 
have stood on some height near by and waved us a fare- 
well as thou didst when we left Rouen. 

The children from the various provinces are marshaled 
each province under its own leader, called a minor 
prophet, each with its own banner, its crosses and its 
garlands. These garlands were woven and presented to 
us by the young girls of Vend6me, who all came to see 
us off with tears and blessings and prayers. Alas ! the 
garlands are already fading, but perchance the blessings 
and the prayers may go with us and speed us on our 
way. Mother dearest, we must succeed when there are 
so many praying for us and wishing us success. 

As the signal was given by the trumpet we all for 
the last time fell on our knees around the great cross. 
The bishop of Vendome blessed us. Each one took the 


90 


THE PRECIOUS LETTER . 


91 


solemn oath of the crusaders, and then from the thirty 
thousand voices rose up such a grand hymn of triumph 
that all the thousands of spectators — some of whom had 
up to this time continued, even with tears, to urge the 
children to remain — caught the enthusiasm and shouted 
in answer, “ Deus vult ! Bens vult !” 

Our Norman division leads the way, Jacob marching 
at the head of the line. Pere Ignatius, to whom the 
bishop of Vendome has given the spiritual charge of 
us Normans, goes with us, and his company makes 
our march much easier. 

Thou dost remember the interesting stories with 
which this learned man was wont to beguile our even- 
ings in Rouen? Here he hath legends and tales for 
every foot of ground over which we pass. Moreover, 
I can see that he watches Nannette with anxious care, 
and is ready with a cordial from his wallet when he 
sees her look wearied or observes her step becoming slow. 
And she is greatly wearied already, for the weather is 
hotter than we have ever known in our moist, green 
Normandy, and the fields are brown and parched by 
the sun. 

This, the people tell us, is a good omen for us, but 
it makes it very difficult for us to walk steadily for so 
many hours at a time. Stephen and his noble youths 
do not, of course, find it so fatiguing, and hardly know 
how to make allowances for the lagging footsteps which 
linger so often behind ; and they and we are all so anx- 
ious to reach the Holy Land that our days’ marches are 
very long — too long, I fear, for our little ones, several 
of whom have given out every day, and we have been 
obliged to leave them by the wayside. The people of 


92 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


the cottages have promised to take good care of them, 
but I fear they will scarcely reach their homes again. 

A very sad thing happened to-day. A little fellow 
suddenly appeared quite overcome, and, dropping to the 
ground, was dead before any assistance could reach him. 
It was a stroke of the sun, P£re Ignatius said, quite 
common in very hot countries. The poor boy was with- 
out a hat, having parted with his to one of the traders 
at Vendome. We carried the poor fellow — he was a Nor- 
man — with us till nightfall, and then buried him in the 
churchyard of a little hamlet near which we spent the 
night. I say near which we spent the night, for, as 
there are no towns on our route large enough to shelter 
thirty thousand of us, we have so far slept in the open 
fields ; and when night comes we are all too tired to miss 
the comfort of a bed. 

Next to our division comes Stephen and his guard, 
the milk-white horses prancing and the gilded chariot 
flashing in the sun. The floor of the chariot is covered 
with beautiful tapestry, and silken curtains of many 
colors flutter in the breeze. Flowers are showered upon 
him as he passes, and voices everywhere shout praises to 
the liberator of Jerusalem. When we stop at evening 
the children all crowd around him to kiss the hallowed 
hem of his garment and the hand which has touched the 
Lord’s hand, and to hear the things which have been re- 
vealed to him from heaven. Some of them pray for a 
thread from his garments or for a fragment of the silk 
curtains of his car. In this crowding many of the 
smaller and weaker children are crushed and trampled 
upon, and many serious accidents have occurred, but 
nothing will damp their enthusiasm for their Heaven- 


THE PRECIOUS LETTER. 


93 


sent leader. And, indeed, he is a beautiful sight. His 
long fair hair, his spiritual eyes and the airy splendor 
of his dress make the girls call him an angel, and even 
the old priests who accompany us look upon him as 
something quite supernatural. 

Stephen told me last night of the line of march along 
which God has told him to lead us. We are to cross to 
the valley of the Rhone and then keep straight on to 
the sea, which will divide and leave us a dry path along 
which we shall march directly to Jerusalem. There will 
be no fighting when we get there. The walls of the 
sacred city will fall before us, and the infidels, moved 
by the Spirit of God and the fear of our armies, will 
cast away their idols and kneel before the cross when 
we plant it upon the highest battlements. When that 
day comes, will it not be glorious to think that the chil- 
dren have done it all ? Stephen says it will only be a 
few days now ; he has had many visions to assure him 
of the fact — almost as many as formerly accompanied 
the mission of Moses when he carried God’s call to the 
Israelites to come out of Egypt. A great cloud of frogs 
one day suddenly rose up before him, and, turning their 
heads eastward, all hopped away toward Jerusalem and 
were soon out of sight. Flocks of birds have flapped 
their wings above his head and then sailed away in the 
direction of the Holy City. Indeed, we are to follow 
the leadings of birds in our southward course toward 
the sea. Angels have hovered over him in the starlight 
and then melted into the morning light at the east, and 
a fiery cross like that of Constantine has stood full in 
his sight by night and day just over where we suppose 
Jerusalem to be. How blessed it must be to have such 


94 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


spiritual visions and to be so highly favored by Heaven 
as is Stephen ! He must be very, very holy. Indeed, 
some say that he has never been known to sin since his 
birth. If only such testimony could be borne of thy 
son, mother dearest ! Alas ! it cannot be. No such 
visions ever come to me, and sin — Ah, mother dear- 
est, I know, if thou dost not. But Pere Ignatius saith 
he shall know better what to think of Stephen when we 
actually reach Jerusalem. At any rate, when our leader 
is telling us these things, his face changes and shines 
like that of the holy Stephen of whom P&re Ignatius 
used to tell us at home, and then the children all break 
into a grand old crusading hymn, and soon after that 
we are all sound asleep. 


Bourges, July. 

It seems so long — such a weary time — since we have 
seen thee, dearest mother ! When I sit at nightfall, 
after our long day’s march, and think of the old days 
at Rouen — of the father coming at nightfall from his 
loom, of the neighbors gathering round our door-stone 
to hear some wondrous tale told by Pere Ignatius, while 
Nannette sat listening intently and Amalie dropped asleep 
in thine arms — it all seems like one of those dreams of 
romance that never happened, and as though the only 
real life we have ever known is this weary, never-ending 
marching and marching day after day. We are so 
weary sometimes, and often very hungry; for, though 
the people give us all they can, there are so many of us 
that when we are passing through the open country or 
near some small village often there cannot enough be 
found to fill so many hungry little mouths. Then, too, 


THE PRECIOUS LETTER. 


95 


as we sleep in the fields with only stones for our pillows, 
we rise in the morning stiff, cramped and hardly fit to 
resume our march. This is all nothing for us boys. 
Are we not sworn to be crusaders? We must grow 
hardy if we would fight the battles of our Lord. But 
for the girls and the little children — oh, it is pitiful to 
look at them and hear their cries and lamentations. But, 
in fact, we have not many very little ones left among us. 
Those terrible sunstrokes have become quite common. 
Multitudes of the weaker ones have fallen and been 
taken and kept by the good people along the way. 
Many of our older children, too, have left us after ask- 
ing vainly day after day, “ Shall we see Jerusalem to- 
night? Is not this Jerusalem?” Stephen and the 
lieutenants always answer, “ In a day or two,” but some 
are no longer satisfied with this reply, and have set out 
to seek an easier way by themselves. 

But our party stand it bravely. Bertholde does not 
think sleeping in the open air so delightful as she did at 
the first, but she is glad to go where we go and to listen 
to all that Nannette and Pere Ignatius say about Jeru- 
salem and heaven. Bernhard and Greta are used to 
exercise and fatigue, and our English boys are sturdy, 
resolute and uncomplaining as ever. Poor Nannette ! 
I would thou couldst see her ! And yet I would not. So 
frail, so spirituelle , so weary, what would she do without 
Pere Ignatius ? But fear not, mother : he takes such 
good care of her as we never could, often carrying her 
for hours at a time. And Bernhard is so strong, and yet 
so tender and thoughtful ! And Nannette says she shall 
be quite well when she gets to Jerusalem, which must 
now be in a few days. Mother, I think the dear Lord 


96 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


must see her loving devotion to his cross and his holy 
sepulchre, and will take better care of our Naunette 
than we even wish to do. 

Many more priests and monks have joined us, shamed, 
they say, by our ardor ; they do much for the weak 
ones and help to keep the unruly in order. There is 
much to interest us as we go, and much to hope for at 
the end of our journey, but still it is a weary, weary 
way. 

At the ancient town of Blois we crossed the river 
Loire on a bridge built, Pere Ignatius says, by the old 
.Romans. Here the inhabitants were very kind to us 
and took all the girls and many of the younger boys to 
sleep in their houses, which climb up the hillside like so 
many flights of stairs, putting the rest of us in barns 
and stables. Then we marched through a rather deso- 
late country to Bourges, where we are now. 

Bourges is a very large city walled all around with 
sixty watch-towers, from which the watchmen may see 
an enemy from any distance. On the very top of the 
hill stands the cathedral of St. £tienne, built more than 
a hundred years ago. As we reached here at noon and 
our leaders gave the command to halt and rest till to- 
morrow, Bernhard and I thought we would climb the 
hill and look at it, and Pere Ignatius joined us, having 
first placed our girls in safety in the house of one of the 
rich silversmiths with which the city abounds. 

Nevers, July. 

Two weeks to-day since we left Vendome ! To some 
of us the two weeks seem like two years, so many little 
graves stand like milestones along the road we have 


THE PRECIOUS LETTER. 


97 


traveled, so many disappointed hopes lie like grave- 
stones along our path. 

We have come over hills and valleys without end, but 
lately no trees, no shade. Our feet are blistered, our 
hands and faces are bronzed. The few people whom 
we now meet say that they never knew such heat. The 
ground is parched and brown, the crops are destroyed, 
the cattle are dying everywhere and the springs are 
drying up. The poor starving peasants have but little 
to give us, and our sufferings are very great. There 
have been occasional showers for the last few days, with 
thunder and lightning, but our heated, tired children, 
sleeping upon the wet ground after their weary day’s 
march, have no protection against them, and colds and 
fevers are becoming very prevalent among us. We are 
forced to leave our sick ones by the wayside, as we may 
not stop to tend them, and it is pitiful to see their heavy 
eyes following us as we slowly file away. 

I fear for the effect of these showers upon Nannette. 
More than once she has been soaked with the rain, in 
spite of all our care to protect her, and she coughs 
sometimes in a way which threatens to shake her slight 
frame to pieces. 

Bertholde has astonished us all by the manner in 
which she, delicately reared and nurtured, has endured 
fatigue and privation without a murmur or a tear. The 
high spirit of her noble ancestry seems to uphold her, but 
even she now seems flagging and leans heavily upon my 
arm at the close of the day, resting her weary head at 
times upon my shoulder. It is pleasant to feel that I 
can thus be a support to her, but it is sad to see the 
changed expression of her eyes, and we all miss the gay 
7 


98 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


badinage with which she was wont to enliven the earlier 
stages of our journey. 

Oh that we were at Jerusalem ! This is the constant 
burden of our nightly prayer, and at morning the first 
thought of every heart is, “ Shall we see Jerusalem 
before night?” 

To-night we are in another large city — Nevers, found- 
ed, Pere Ignatius says, by Julius Caesar as a place in 
which to keep his money-chests. The river Loire is on 
one side of us, and the Ni6vres — a much smaller stream 
— on the other. There is an old church here, built two 
hundred years ago. Pere Ignatius and I went down 
the steps that lead to it, and remained there a long time 
praying for the success of the crusade. The building is 
very plain and in a style quite different from our 
churches at Rouen, with round instead of pointed 
arches. It was very quiet and solemn, and Pere Ignatius 
said that he always felt more as if God were present 
in a small plain church than in one richly-decorated. 
There is here a splendid new cathedral called St. Cyr, 
but it stands upon the top of a hill, and we are all too 
tired to climb. I am to sleep to-night in a bed — the 
first time for many weeks — in the house of the potter 
Simon. His potteries are one hundred and fifty years 
old, and he sends his goods all the way to Paris, where 
the king buys them for the royal table. Mother dear, 
I hope thou and Amalie and all our home-hearts are 
praying for your little ones to-night. 


July 25. 

We are on the top of a hill overlooking Lyons to- 
night. We have climbed over the steep Montagne de 


THE PRECIOUS LETTER. 


99 


Tar rare, which is three thousand feet at its highest 
point, and followed the winding valley of the Tarrare 
River, and then toiled up this hill, where in the moon- 
light we can look down upon Lyons. But as we are 
not to enter the city till morning, and then shall have to 
wait nearly all day while the rest of our army cross the 
narrow bridge which spans the Rhone, we have asked 
Pere Ignatius to tell us all that he knows of the old 
city, and he has just been telling us some of the stories. 

Thou wouldst be surprised to see with what earnest- 
ness Richard and Robin have listened to these tales, 
what a heroic light flashed in their eyes, and how they 
grasped each other’s hands and whispered from time to 
time into each other’s ears. I think there is stuff in 
these heavy English boys of which we never dreamed 
when at home we used to call them stupid. Perhaps it 
will develop itself on the soil of Palestine. 

The letter of Antoine ends here. What follows was 
written by the good Pere Ignatius. 


CHAPTER VI. 

N ANNETTE REACHES JERUSALEM. 


“ Jerusalem the golden ! I weary for one gleam 
Of all thy glory folden in distance and in dream ; 

My thoughts, like palms in exile, climb up to look and pray 
For a glimpse of thy dear country that lies so far away. 

“Jerusalem the golden ! When sun sets in the west, 

It seems thy gate of glory, thou city of the blest ! 

And midnight's starry torches, through intermediate gloom, 

Are waving with the'.r welcome to our eternal home.” 

Gerald Massey. 

July 29. 

H onored lady and friend : Thy son 

hath deputed me to write thee the heavy tidings 
which he is too heartbroken to communicate himself. 
Ere thou readest what it is agony for me to write pre- 
pare thyself for sad news and look upward to that sacred 
heart of our blessed Lord and Saviour, which in bleed- 
ing for thy sins hath also borne thy sorrows. 

Antoine hath doubtless informed thee how my love 
for thy little ones and my anxiety for their safety proved 
too strong for my sworn vows of obedience to my order 
and led me to join them at Vendome. If in this I 
have sinned, may God forgive the weakness of his 
servant ! The crime, if it be judged such, shall be 
condoned by whatever penance my superiors may ap- 
point when once I have accomplished my self-imposed task 
too 


THE PRECIOUS LETTER. 


101 


and seen the children reach the Holy Land in safety. 
And yet methinks that He who of old loved little 
children, who in the time of his own sorest need loved 
his own even to the end — nay, whose very name is Love 
— will forgive much to the human love which drew me 
from the cloister and the service of his altar to the 
daily care of the two beings whom on earth I love 
the best. For thou canst never know how much I 
love thy children. I long ago saw, great promise in 
Antoine, and I looked to see him a priest consecrated in 
very deed, as I believe him already to be in heart, to 
the constant service of the Lord who died for him. I 
looked to see him stand by my side in a life-struggle 
against the corruptions which the patient Lord looks 
upon day by day in the very innermost recesses of his 
sanctuary. I indulged myself in visions of the time 
when together we should face king and kaiser, when 
my old learning and his young eloquence should arouse 
Christendom to a new crusade — not against the Saracen, 
but against spiritual wickedness in high places — should 
stir the Church to arise and cast out the tables of the 
money-changers, to put on again her long-disused 
beautiful garments of holiness and with an open Bible 
in her hand preach to all nations the everlasting gospel 
of the kingdom of Christ. All this, and much more, I 
often mused upon as I daily imparted to Antoine my 
little store of knowledge which I hoped might be of 
use to him in his future work, and I fancied I already 
saw signs of the success of my projects in the avidity 
with which he seized upon new ideas, and in his ab- 
horrence of the desecrations he was compelled to wit- 
ness. Then came this delusion, as I must believe it to 


102 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


be — this crusade of the children — and my boy’s enthu- 
siasm was just prepared to kindle with this apparently 
sure way of righting all wrongs by the recapture of the 
holy sepulchre and there enthroning Christ as King. 
It was my own work. The stream was turned in a 
channel I little anticipated, but I had helped to augment 
its force, and now what could I do to stem its current ? 
Nothing save to commit it to Him who u holdeth the 
waters in the hollow of his hand.” 

But Nannette ! Ah ! how can I ever tell thee how I 
have felt toward Nannette? Thou hast forgotten, or 
perchance thou never knewest, how I came to the priory 
of St. Gervaise a desolate, broken-hearted man — deso- 
late because all I had in the world, father, mother, sis- 
ters and home, had been swept away in the fires which 
raged against the misguided Albigenses, to which unhappy 
sect my people belonged. I was reared in a monastery 
as a faithful son of the Church, and it became my duty, 
so far as possible, to bury their memory. Then I first 
saw Nannette ; then first she laid her baby-face against 
mine and I felt the soft clasp of her tiny fingers. Think 
what such loving contact is to one who may never — 
never in all his long life — have one human thing to 
call his very own, never listen to childish prattle that 
speaks out loving thoughts for him, his exclusively and 
his by right; try to realize what it is for a priest to 
crush out day by day a whole human life of affections 
and interests, and then pity the mad idolatry which 
takes possession of him for the little soft human girl 
who seems to love him. For Nannette did love me, 
and a whole life of devotion would be almost nothing 
in which to win the assurance of it which I shall carry 


THE PRECIOUS LETTER. 


103 


to my grave. Ah, dear lady, when thy heart seems like 
to burst with its own griefs, think of me, and of tens 
of thousands like me, and thank God who has made 
thee the mother of two such children as Antoine and 
Nannette. 

Thou little knewest the grief which wrung my heart 
when I told thee it was best to let Nannette go, and yet 
my knowledge of leechcraft assured me that it was her 
only chance for life — a mere chance, as indeed it has 
proved, but still the only one ; for her whole constitu- 
tion was so shattered by the excitement which she had 
gone through and the fever which still lingered in her 
veins that a few days more of such wild excitement 
would have ended her life. But when she was fairly 
gone, and, alone in my cell, I pondered on the dangers 
to which she must be exposed, the weakness which 
would so easily be overcome by the fatigues of the way, 
and the other nameless evils which hung around the 
path of one so young and beautiful, I could not rest 
till I had left my home and my duty to come and watch 
over our dear one, and to defend her, so far as one weak 
arm might defend her, from every evil to which she 
might be exposed. Thank God, dearest friend, from 
the depths into which my words will now plunge thee, 
that he has enabled me thus to smooth, soften and do 
all that medical skill might do to ease the path of our 
little pilgrim to the entrance -of her most holy sepulchre. 
For — have I sufficiently prepared thee? — Naunette, oui 
Nannette, is dead. Her soft, bright eyes have closed for 
ever, their silken fringes shading her marble cheek ; her 
weary feet rest quietly after her long, toilsome marches ; 
the cross under whose banners she enlisted only two 


104 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


short months ago lies under her folded hands upon a 
bosom which never again will heave with pain or ex- 
citement, and we have this afternoon laid her to sleep 
beneath the late summer flowers in this old cradle of 
Christianity, the town of Vienne. 

Antoine saith that I must tell thee all the particulars 
of this sad event, and, though I know it will be a grief 
to thee to hear and to me to write, it will still be a sad 
satisfaction to thee to know all that is to be known of 
the last days of thy child-angel Nannette. 

From the moment I joined the children at Vendome 
I was shocked at the change in Nannette’s appearance, 
and I felt that she could not live very long. Of course, 
notwithstanding all our care, we could not prevent her 
from getting very tired during those long hot days ; and 
when sudden showers came on, I felt that they were 
almost death to her. But as we neared Lyons she 
seemed to feel stronger and better, talked a great deal 
of Jerusalem and insisted that we should very soon be 
there. The last evening of which Antoine has written 
to thee she seemed unusually well, though, like all the 
other children, much fatigued with the long climb up 
the height of Fourvieres. She listened with great in- 
terest to my stories of the martyrs, occasionally whis- 
pering to Bertholde, who seems strangely subdued lately 
and very unlike the gay little lady of Tourville. I 
really cherished a hope that evening that on reaching 
the softer air of Provence Nan netted weary little form 
might revive — a hope soon doomed to disappointment. 

The next day the children’s leader, Stephen of Cloyes, 
ordered that the whole army should pass through the 
city and over the bridge built by Pope Innocent IV., 


THE PRECIOUS LETTER. 


105 


that the rest of the journey might be performed on the 
eastern bank of the Rhine. As only four can cross this 
bridge abreast, those in the rear had the whole day in 
which to examine the interesting old city, and, being 
familiar with its antiquities, I was able to make the time 
pass very pleasantly to the children. We saw the ruins 
of the Roman town on the heights of Fourvi&res, and, 
the day being clear, had a fine view of Mont Blanc, 
more than a hundred miles distant. We visited the 
church of St. Irenseus, looked mournfully at the tombs 
of the martyrs and carefully examined the church of St. 
John the Baptist, a Christian church which our pious 
ancestors built out of the remains of a Roman temple, 
thus forcing the heathen idols to serve the true God, and 
then we wandered around the palace of Antiquailles, 
where were born the emperors Claudius and Caligula. 
All our group of seven children were so interested and 
asked so many questions that the priest’s office of story- 
teller became no sinecure, and Nannette’s questions 
were no less pertinent and inquisitive than Bertholde’s, 
though those of the latter referred more to the glory 
of the Roman dominion, and those of the former to the 
sufferings and the greater glory of martrydom. 

Late in the afternoon we took our place on the bridge, 
and had nearly reached the farther end when I saw 
Nannette stumble, sway to and fro, and then fall heavily 
over the low parapet into the rushing waters below. A 
sudden cry, a splash, and Bernhard the German was by 
her side in the water. In a moment his arm was round 
her, and by a few vigorous strokes the strong boy had 
soon stemmed the torrent and laid her all dripping and 
pale on the farther bank. We did what we could to 


106 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


dry her clothes, and a kind peasant offered as the shelter 
of his house and the warmth of his fire, but it was long 
ere Nannette revived. I think she had fainted before 
her fall, that the unwonted excitement of the day had 
proved too much for her, and with the reaction her failing 
strength suddenly deserted her altogether. 

When, at length, she did open her eyes, there was no 
look of recognition in them, and through that long 
night the ravings of delirium and the tossings of fever 
were all that told us Nannette was still our own. I 
watched her with a heart full of agony through the 
lingering hours, while the frightened and tired children 
slept heavily upon the floor around me. To one who 
knew all about her it was very pitiful to listen to her 
ravings. Again and again she cried for “ mother ” — 
the “ little mother,” the “ dear mother.” Then she 
would bid Amalie lie still and not disturb her, for she 
was to follow the Lord to Jerusalem and nothing should 
hold her back. From time to time I gave her such 
febrifuges as were at hand, and by daylight she lay 
quiet, though apparently without consciousness. 

With morning came the necessity for continuing our 
march, and, though it has, alas ! become quite common 
to leave the sick little crusaders to recover or die by the 
wayside, we could not do so with our Nannette. All 
that weary, weary day we carried her over the rough 
hills and along the stony road under the burning sun- 
shine, which that day seemed the very hottest of the 
whole journey, Bernhard, Antoine and I, even Richard 
and Robin occasionally relieving us with their sturdy 
arms, and Greta also insisting upon bearing her share 
of our precious burden. Not one of us but would have 


THE PRECIOUS LETTER. 


107 


gladly gone thus laden all the way to Palestine if by so 
doing we might keep Nannette still among us. But we 
all knew this could not be, though we dared not whis- 
per our certainty the one to the other. 

At nightfall we halted in a field about halfway 
between Lyons and Vienne, and as we laid her gently 
on the dry, soft grass Nannette opened her eyes. In 
them there was an awful look of spiritual beauty that 
had never been there before. 

“ Will we reach Jerusalem to-night ?” said she, 
repeating that which had been her first waking question 
for so many weeks. “Ah ! I know ! It is night now. 
I shall never see Jerusalem. Yes, I shall,” she ex- 
claimed, starting up with sudden energy ; “ I shall see 
the twelve foundations, I shall enter the gates of pearl. 
There is no temple there, no sun, no moon; it is all 
light : the Lamb is the light thereof — the Lamb that 
was slain. That is what the cross upon my shoul- 
der means — the Lamb was slain for me. — Dear, dear 
Lamb ! Nannette is coming very soon.” Then, turning 
to me, she said, “ Father, I understand the vision now 
— the vision I had in Rouen. The Holy City was above 
the land of France, you know, and Jesus beckoned me 
up to it. It must have been the New Jerusalem, not 
the old. He was alive, too, not lying in the holy 
sepulchre. I should have liked to march with the 
other children to the old city, but the new one is better, 
and there are no more weary mountains to climb nor 
rivers to cross in getting there.” 

Nannette seemed very much exhausted then, so we 
sat around her, and I repeated many sacred words 
which I remember to have heard my old father read in 


108 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


the days before it was death to know the books of the 
Albigenses — words about the stream that makes glad 
the city of our God, about the river of life with the 
palm trees whose cooling shadows rest ever upon its 
banks, and the everlasting gates which shall be lifted up 
to let in the King of glory. 

“ Yes,” said Nannette, “ they will be lifted up high 
enough and opened wide enough to let all the children 
follow in his train. — And thou too, dear Pere Ignatius. 
Thy children would never have known the way to them 
but for thee. Nannette would never be happy inside if 
thou wert left without. — You will all come ?” she said, 
looking around. “ Promise me.” 

Not one of us could speak, but we all knelt beside 
her. 

“ Antoine,” she said, “ turn not back from the cru- 
sade ; now thou must see the Holy City and fight the 
infidels for both of us. — Bertholde, I think thou didst 
not follow the army for the love of Jesus, but thou 
lovest him now, dost thou not?” 

“ Yes, truly,” murmured Bertholde ; “ thou hast led 
me to him.” 

“ Then,” said Nannette, “ for my sake and his be 
faithful. I wish thee to wear my gray mantle with the 
white cross, since now thou art a crusader not in name 
only, but in heart. — Greta, take as good care of Ber- 
tholde as thou hast taken of me. — Bernhard, fmht man- 
fully as thine ancestors fought for the blood-red cross 
of the crusaders. — Richard and Robin, be ever steadfast 
to your faith. Remember the martyrs of Lyons.” 

To me she said — I am glad to remember that her 
last words were to me, albeit their message was to thee — • 


THE PRECIOUS LETTER. 


109 


“ Tell my mother to be sure and come and bring 
Amalie, as she promised she would, and my father too. 
There are many mansions — room enough for all.” 

We prayed then, as it has been our wont every even- 
ing, and Nannette said, “ Sing ;” so the children sang 
their last evening hymn together, one of her choosing. 

Suddenly she said, 

“ Is this the sea? It is very cold, but the waters are 
opening. We shall go through dry shod.” 

A shiver, a smile of rapture, and Nannette had 
reached Jerusalem. 

July 30. 

Just below Vienne we have met with a traveling 
merchant who promises to take this epistle and deliver 
it safely into thine hands. He cometh from my own 
country of Languedoc and hath riches of great price. 
I have bought from him a book the like of which if 
thou wilt also purchase thou wilt find therein much to 
comfort thee in thy deep affliction. But be cautious, for 
such pearls must not be cast before unthinking swine with 
persecuting keepers, and my friend the merchant must 
not run himself into danger through me. I trust, also, 
that thou wilt take sweet counsel with him when he 
meets thee. 

We have taken up our sad march again. Antoine 
seems heartbroken ; it makes my heart bleed to see his 
young face so sad. 

“The mother will never forgive me,” he says, “for 
not taking better care of Nannette. I promised her, 
but indeed I could not keep my promise.” 

I have endeavored to persuade him to turn back even 
now, but all in vain. He is doubly bound, he says — 


110 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


by the commands of Nannette as well as by his vow — 
and, indeed, the one thought which interests him now is 
the planting of the cross upon the holy sepulchre. I 
promise thee, dear lady, that I will never leave him, but 
will watch over him even as I would have done over 
our Nannette. 

The girl Bertholde tries hard to comfort Antoine. 
She interests me greatly. Brought up in the Christian 
land of France, she seemeth to know scarcely more of 
our holy faith than do the infidels we go to convert or 
to conquer. Time after time through the day she will 
slip her little hand — blackened now with sun and wind — 
into mine and ask me to tell her some story of the life 
of Christ or of the holy saints and apostles. She seems 
so in earnest to learn these things, so gentle and repent- 
ant withal ! 

“ Dost thou think,” she said to me last night, “ that 
God will ever forgive me for disobeying my father and 
running away from home, and will let me go to that 
beautiful city where Nannette is? I have prayed to 
the Virgin and the saints to intercede for me. Dost 
thou think their intercessions will be heard?” 

“ Rather pray to Jesus himself,” said I ; “ he is our 
Intercessor. Remember Nannette’s hymn.” 

“ Yes,” she said, “ and he died for us ; that is what 
the cross means. I understand it now, but in Rouen I 
used to wonder what people saw in that stupid image to 
worship. I love it now, and I am glad to carry it on 
my shoulder as Nannette did.” 

Count Bernhard is a good friend to thy boy, and a 
brave, noble fellow. It was at the risk of his own life 
that he saved Nannette from the swift waters of the 


THE PRECIOUS LETTER. 


Ill 


Rhone, and he seems to feel her death very deeply. So, 
too, do the English boys, though it is not their way to 
show their feelings. 

Antoine sendeth his dearest love to thee, and says 
that when he feels able to write he will begin another 
letter to thee and send it from Marseilles, toward which 
ancient city our course now tendeth. He bids thee 
think of Nannette as rejoicing for ever in the heavenly 
city and joining daily in the glorious songs of the 
redeemed. Perchance, he says, she may now be watch- 
ing over thee as well as over us. 

I call upon thee, O stricken one, to turn to the suffer- 
ing Christ. Pour thy sorrows into his sympathizing 
ear ; try to realize that in all the afflictions of his peo- 
ple he is afflicted, and let his unseen but realized pres- 
ence save thee. 

The Lord bless thee and keep thee ; the Lord lift up 
the light of his countenance upon thee and give thee 
peace, now and for evermore ! 

With respectful salutations thine, 

Ignatius la Monte. 






























BOOK III. 

AMALIE’S UNCOMPLETED 
CHRONICLE. 







CHAPTER I. 
BIRTHDAY MUSINGS. 


“I love thee, and I feel 
That in the fountain of my heart a seal 
Is set, to keep its waters pure and bright 
For thee.” — Shelley. 

TT is my birthday — June 1, 1222 — a lovely summer 
afternoon quite as bright as one which I remember 
long ago when, as we sat on the Mons St. Catharine, my 
mother told me the story of my brother and my sister. 
How long ago that seems ! How many things have 
happened since ! I was quite a little girl then ; am I 
grown up now ? Bernhard thinks so, for he has asked 
me to marry him when he comes back from the crusade, 
and I have said “Yes.” I said it this morning, just 
outside of the grande porte , and Bernhard said that that 
“Yes” would be a better shield against the Paynim 
spears than all his armor, and that the remembrance of 
it would nerve his arm to send the sword flashing 
through the skulls of the infidels, in order that the holy 
sepulchre might be the sooner conquered and that he 
might the sooner return to me. 

I wonder how Bernhard, knight and noble, came to 
think of poor little me, the cloth-weaver’s daughter. 
But then, to be sure, my mother’s family were noble, 
though she was disowned for marrying my father, and 
Bernhard swears that he would rather have me, with 

115 


116 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


my plain, homely ways, than any lady in the castles of 
Germany or the cities of France. He says, moreover, 
that he promised Antoine to be a brother to him and 
another son to his mother, and I can thus best help him 
fulfill his vow. He said many more things this morn- 
ing as we stood in the shadow of the old archway, but 
I cannot write them down ; as I think of them this 
evening they seem rather like the confused murmur of 
a sweet and pleasant dream than like any distinct words. 
They must be my stay and comfort for three years. 

Three years ! How long they seem to look forward 
to ! for Bernhard has gone again to the crusade. I 
think he cared not much to go ; his ardor for the holy 
war received a great shock in his early years, and he 
said, 

“How shall arms enfeebled by the luxury and cor- 
ruption of this age succeed where stalwart hearts like 
those of England’s Richard failed ? Or how shall the 
holy Lord give into the hands of sinful meu that which 
he has denied to the mighty sacrifice of thousands of 
innocent children ?” Nevertheless, since the Holy Father 
hath decided that the vows of the young crusaders are 
still binding upon them now that they are come to years 
of manhood, Bernhard saith that he will not be the first 
of an ancient house to prove recreant to his word, and 
so bring foul stain upon his honorable escutcheon ; and, 
since his master and emperor, Frederick of Germany, 
hath called upon all his nobles and barons to follow him 
to Palestine, his allegiance, as well as his vows, takes him 
away from home and from me. Bernhard saith that 
honor doth still more bind him to accompany his mas- 
ter because since he hath been excommunicated by Pope 


AMALIE’S UNCOMPLETED CHRONICLE. 117 


Gregory none but the Teutonic Knights can be found to 
carry the banners of Germany into the Holy Land. 

The mother thinketh it sad chance to fight under an 
excommunicated leader, but Bernhard saith that all that 
dishonor will be wiped away by the virtue of a pilgrim- 
age to Jerusalem, even if the city itself fall not into the 
emperor’s hands. Moreover, he thinketh that a true 
knight should ever do knightly deeds to make himself 
worthy of the lady of his choice, and that Amalie shall 
not have cause to blush for her lover when he returns 
from the crusades covered with glory. 

As if I could ever blush for Bernhard ! and as if I 
would not rather have him here safe and sound with me 
than risking life and limb on the bloody fields of Pales- 
tine ! What would it be worth to me if all the world 
were chanting his praises, while I vainly awaited his 
home-coming, which could never be, and he slept cold 
and stiff upon the battlefield ? But then I know men 
care for glory and love to have women rejoice in their 
chivalrous deeds, so I held back my tears and said, 

“ Go, Bernhard, and come back crowned with more 
glory and renown than ever was won by knight before, 
and Amalie will be a prouder and happier girl than if 
thou shouldst lay a dukedom at her feet ; and every night 
and morning shall arise to Heaven for thee a prayer which 
shall nerve thine arm to certain victory and in hours of 
conflict be to thee a shield which nothing can pierce.” 

Meanwhile, shall not I be lonely ? Yes, indeed ! but I 
will not think of that, for I shall have much to do, 
and I mean to be very busy. First, there is the dear 
mother, so feeble, so worn with watching and anxiety. 
I think that to this day she still believeth the boys are 


118 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


living and will yet return ; and, though ten years have 
passed away since they set out for the Holy Land, she 
never ceaseth eagerly to question every traveling mer- 
chant, returned pilgrim or home-bound crusader as to the 
whereabouts or the success of those children whom God 
led forth to take the holy sepulchre from the hands of 
the infidel. As no one has brought us any tidings of 
them in these long years, all feel that they are sleep- 
ing beneath the waters of the great sea, and Bernhard 
saith it was not God who called them to conquer the 
Holy City, but some wicked priests who led the poor 
innocents like lambs to the slaughter. But this the 
mother will not believe, and every day before the altar 
and the rood she prayeth, not only for the souls, but for 
the bodies also, of her children. Every day I shall 
guide her feeble steps to the cathedral, and shall there 
pray for the safety of my Bernhard and for the success 
of the Christian arms. Then I have flowers to strew 
on the father’s grave; I must go to the market and 
the fishmonger’s, must attend to my daily duties in the 
house — the making, the mending and the baking — and 
must keep all things pleasant and cheerful that the poor 
old mother may have her last days brightened by me. 
I must find time also to visit blind Peter, down by 
the gate, and help good Dame Moires with those poor 
orphan children she hath taken to bring up, and do 
some of the fine embroidery for the altar-cloth which 
the sisters of St. Ursule are preparing for the new 
church of St. Maclou, which they say is to be as beau- 
tiful as the cathedral itself. 

I shall not have time to be lonely in the morning ; 
but when the day’s work is all over and the mother 


AMALIE'S UNCOMPLETED CHRONICLE. 119 


has dropped asleep in her carved chair, as is her wont ; 
when our neighbors are all chatting merrily around their 
door-stones and I sit alone in the twilight, how shall I 
ever keep from longing for Bernhard and from grieving 
over his possible fate? It will not do to spend the time 
in weeping, and so dim the bright eyes which no doubt 
he longeth once more to see. Besides, I think the good 
Lord who hath given me so many blessings and hath 
added to them all the crowning gift of Bernhard's love 
would not be well pleased at that. 

And yet I cannot but think of Bernhard ; so I will 
read again and again those books which he hath bought 
for me — the soft pastourelles , conies and serenades of 
the troubadours written in the sweet langue d’oc of Prov- 
ence, which he hath taught me to understand, and our 
own ballads of the langue d’oil. I like these much, there 
is such a stirring ring to their music, invigorating to the 
spirit like cool water on a sultry day. Especially do I 
delight in the “ Romance of the Rou,” and that of the 
Rose, and am proud of them also because the trouv&res 
are Normans. Bernhard hath also left with me some 
of the lays of the minnesingers in his own native tongue, 
but these I cannot read, and can only guard them safely 
till his return, looking occasionally at the quaint devices 
with which they are garnished and weaving to myself 
the romances which they suggest. This was ever one 
of my chief amusements in my lonely childhood when 
the children had gone and left me to grow up all by 
myself in my shadowed home. 

There is one thing more for me to do in those twi- 
light hours. Bernhard is so glad that I can write, 
since it is not the fashion of German barons to be 


120 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


great scholars, and he saith that when we — how 
strangely sounds that little word ! — go to live in his 
beautiful castle on the Rhine I shall be his little clerk 
and keep his accounts, so that no steward can rob 
him of his revenues or cheat the peasants in the village 
at the foot of the hill. Bernhard is pleased to think 
my writing very delicate, but I am sure that in three 
years I might improve it much, so I mean to practice a 
little every day ; and that I may have matter of inter- 
est to write about, as well as something with which to 
please and surprise my lover on his return, I will write 
a chronicle of all that passes while he is gone, and in 
those beautiful years which we are to spend together 
we will read it and laugh over my fears and my loneli- 
ness. 

For, indeed, though for Bernhard’s sake and that of 
the mother I have kept up bravely all day, I have 
many fears, and my heart is sorely heavy to-night in 
spite of the sunrise of joy which was in it this morning. 
O loving Christ — thou who hast thyself known sorrow 
and separation, and even death — keep death far from 
my Bernhard, end our separation and turn thou our sor- 
row soon into joy ! 


CHAPTER II. 


AN ANGEL UNAWARES. 

“ Lord, open eyes too dim to see aright 

That we our angel-visitants may know — 

May see their folded pinions and the light 

Which gleams from shrouded robes of drifted snow.” 

I WILL commence my chronicle by calling to mem- 
ory the day when Bernhard first came to Rouen. I 
remember that, the afternoon before, my mother and I 
had taken a long walk together and climbed the Mons 
St. Catherine. It was a beautiful June evening, and, 
sitting there, she told me all about Antoine and Nan- 
nette, and about the departure of the children for the 
Holy Land. I had been only a giddy young child 
before that evening ; but when I had heard how much 
the dear patient mother had suffered, a strong feeling 
came over me that I must make up to her for all that 
she had lost, and I knelt before the cross which stands 
on the mount and prayed the Lord Christ that, since I 
was not good enough or wise enough to go forth on a 
crusade for the recovery of his sacred tomb, he would 
at least grant me grace to be a good, obedient little 
Amalie and to make a happy home for my sorrowing 
mother. I prayed, too, that he would comfort her and 
bring the children back again if it was his most holy 
will. 


121 


122 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


When we reached home, the mother gave me a roll 
of parchment bound around, not with a silken cord, as 
is the usual fashion of epistles, but with a long tress of 
shining hair. 

“ It is Nannette’s,” she said, briefly — “ all I have of 
her.” 

It took me the whole of the next day to read that long 
letter, and I seemed to be living in the stirring scenes 
through which the writers passed on their eventful way 
toward the southern sea. The dark old gables of 
Rouen faded out of my sight, and I saw white tents 
with floating pennons, marble palaces, grand cathedrals, 
cities, mountains, and all the wonders of which the letter 
told. I could almost hear the voices of the children 
singing their grand old hymns and the trampling of 
their many thousand feet as day after day they marched 
along the dusty highway. But when I came to P§re 
Ignatius’s pathetic account of how Nannette reached 
Jerusalem, I dropped the roll on the door-stone and fell 
into a violent flood of tears and sobs. How long this 
lasted I do not know, but at length I felt a gentle touch 
upon my shoulder, and a sweet voice said, 

“ What is thy grief, little girl ? Why dost thou weep 
so long and bitterly ?” 

I did not raise my head and I scarcely listened, but 
murmured, 

“ Nannette ! Oh, Nannette !” 

“ And who is Nannette ?” said the voice, again. 

This time I looked up, and saw a pair of kind eyes 
sympathizingly turned down upon me. Standing before 
me was a tall, well-developed young man with fair skin 
and flaxen hair, and with a dignity of mien which 


AMALIE’S UNCOMPLETED CHRONICLE. 123 


proclaimed him a gentleman even had not the richness 
of his dress, the device which adorned his cap and the 
splendid charger which at a. little distance behind a page 
held by the bridle shown him to be a noble. 

I was very much abashed at being found in such a 
condition in such a presence, and, drying my eyes on my 
apron, would have escaped into the house, but the hand 
of the young man still gently detained me, and again 
he said, 

“ Little one, who is Nannette ?” 

“ My sister, sir — my angel-sister, who when she was 
no older than I joined the crusade of the children and 
died on the way to the sea.” 

“And Antoine was thy brother,” said he, “and 
Richard and Robin were thy cousins who came from 
England, and — ” 

“ Why, how couldst thou know ?” interrupted I ; for 
astonishment had taken away my respectful awe for the 
grand young gentleman. 

“Only because I am thy other brother, Bernhard,” 
said he. 

“Not Bernhard the boy-crusader whom Antoine 
loved so much? Not Bernhard who was so kind to 
poor Nannette?” 

“The very same,” said he, with something like a 
tear in his own eye. “ Dear Nannette ! and yet happy 
Nannette, so early to have escaped from the toils and 
perils of her weary way ! Little one, I loved Nannette 
better than I loved my own sister Greta. Poor girl ! 
Gladly would I have given— as, indeed, I risked— my 
life to save hers, but it could not be. I promised her, 
however, and I promised thy brother Antoine also, that 


124 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


I would be son to thy mother and brother unto thee. 
Wilt thou accept the relationship?” 

I did not answer, but I led the grand young knight 
into the inner room where the mother sat alone. Never 
can I forget the scene which followed — the start of 
surprise, the tears and sobs, the smiles, the embraces ; 
for the mother never once seemed to look upon Bern- 
hard in the light of a great lord, as I had done, but only 
as the boy who had known her boy, who had loved and 
watched over her Nannette, and she took him at once 
into her heart, where she hath kept him ever since. I 
am not jealous ; there is room enough there for us both, 
and it is sweet to feel that we are thus so closely drawn 
together. 

When we had all calmed down a little, Bernhard 
told us how on his return from Marseilles, some years 
ago, his intention had been to come immediately to us, 
but, heariug of the severe illness of his uncle, who had 
brought him up, he hurried at once to Hohenseck, 
entrusting another long letter from Antoine to the care 
of a pilgrim whom he met on his way home toward 
the neighborhood of Rouen. It is needless to say that 
this letter was never received, and, Bernhard having 
quite forgotten the name of the pilgrim or the exact 
place of his destination, we shall probably never be able 
to ascertain its fate. The mother grieves at losing so 
much of Antoine’s writing, together with his descriptions 
of the latter part of his journey, but for me — Well, I 
have so often heard the whole story from the lips of 
Bernhard that I consider not the loss as irreparable. 

Bernhard’s uncle continued for years in a fluctuating 
state. At times he would appear to be regaining health 


AMALIE’S UNCOMPLETED CHRONICLE. 125 


and strength, and his nephew would think of leaving 
him and performing his promised journey to Rouen, but 
the very mention of such a plan would so affect the in- 
valid as to throw him into a state in which the slightest 
crossing of his will seemed to threaten death, and at last 
Bernhard was obliged to promise not to leave him as 
long as he lived. The poor boy had a hard time with 
the old count, who was jealous, suspicious and irritable, 
at one moment blaming him for turning back from the 
crusade and staining a noble name with the disgrace of 
broken vows, at others blessing him for his presence and 
refusing to take food or nostrums from any hand but 
his. At last he died, leaving to Bernhard, besides the 
title and the castle — which descended to him of right — 
all his lands and gold, which seem to us great riches. 
Now he was free, and as soon as the days of decent 
mourning for his uncle were ended, and the necessary 
formalities which put him in possession of the estates 
gone through with, the young count set out for Roueu 
to fulfill his long-delayed promise of visiting us. 

From that time Bernhard was much with us; and 
though at times he must of necessity visit his Rhenish 
castle and be occupied in the acquisition of those manly 
and warlike accomplishments which become a knight of 
the German empire, and also in attendance at the tour- 
naments where a young knight might acquire skill and 
renown, yet he ever returned gladly to us, and said that 
our dark old house was more like home to him than the 
empty grandeur of Hohenseck. When with us, he was 
ever mindful of his promise to Antoine. He became 
my mother's counselor and best friend ; and when the 
wily notary would have taken the dear old house away 


126 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


from us by virtue of some pretended flaw in the father’s 
will, Bernhard’s fiery indignation and clear reasoning 
shamed him so that he was induced to sign a deed of 
restitution, and all the town saw that we were no longer 
a defenceless woman and a helpless child, but had the 
strong right arm of a man and a Teutonic Knight for 
our protection. 

It was a sweet thing — so Bernhard said — to learn 
what a mother’s love was, to him who had never known 
either father or mother, and he seemed to feel that he 
could never do too much for one who was willing to 
stand in such a relationship to him. Me he took into 
the very place which Nannette had held, though he often 
told me in those early days that my plain, quiet little feat- 
ures could not compare with her spiritual beauty. I 
fancy I must have grown fairer in five years or that 
Bernhard has changed his opinion ; at any rate, I am 
quite contented with that, and have no desire to be any 
more beautiful, since he is satisfied with me as I am. 
He watched over me in my walks, guarded me from 
insult, told me stories of his ancestry and his castle, 
of the strange sights he had seen and the wonderful 
events which were happening all over the world, of 
legends and fabliaux , and finally of those sweet love- 
strains of the troubadours, which gradually led to his 
speaking to me in other tones than those of a brother. 
We went ever to the church and knelt side by side, and 
we sang together as we sat at evening on the same door- 
stone where the brave young knight first spoke gently 
to the sobbing little girl he found there. 

Bernhard knows a store of the wild ballads of his 
native land, some of which are extremely beautiful ; at 


AMALIE'S UNCOMPLETED CHRONICLE. 127 


least they seem to. me when I hear them in the tones of 
his rich, deep voice. He learns, also, grand old chants 
such as are sung in the German churches and minne- 
songs, but best I liked the hymns which were sung by 
the children who went to the crusade. 

When I grew older, Bernhard brought me a white 
palfrey and taught me to ride, and together we visited 
all the spots where Antoine and the English boys were 
wont to roam — the priory of St. Gervaise, the bridge 
over which the lost children marched to the crusade 
and the castle of Tourville, from which Bertholde escaped 
to join them. 

Bernhard said that the reason of his turning back 
from the crusade was that he had been deceived as to 
the opening of the sea which so often had been promised 
to the children by the leaders. Stephen had said again 
and again that the sea would open and a dry pathway 
would appear the moment the first foot touched the shore. 
This miracle did not occur, and, since Stephen was either 
deceived or a deceiver in this point, he was not any more 
a leader to be trusted or to be followed. Greta would 
not turn back, and her brother had no power to force 
her had he desired to do so ; but, indeed, her heart was 
so set upon the crusade that he would not even ask her 
to violate her conscience. 

Bernhard thinks that the children who embarked for 
Palestine must all have perished in the waves, or before 
this we should have had some tidings of them. All the 
German children reached their homes — at least, those who 
were not kidnaped or did not die by the way, even 
though the division of Nicholas penetrated as far as 
Genoa and the other body marched to Brundusium, at 


128 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


the very southern extremity of Italy. Indeed, he says 
that a small vessel landing at Marseilles in the spring 
of 1213 reported the wreck of a ship not far from Sar- 
dinia, and many think that this must have been one of 
the vessels which bore the children. 

Bernhard has many a time told us the story of the 
journey to Marseilles and the embarkation ; indeed, so 
often hath he told it to please the mother — who never 
wearies of listening to its every particular — that I have 
quite learned it by heart, and I mean to write it all down 
in this chronicle in his own words, and then I shall feel 
as though he were still speaking to me, while he is really 
so far away. 

Dear Bernhard ! I wonder if he is thinking of me 
to-night, and remembering, as he looks at the cross 
which is his symbol of enrollment, that Amalie’s fingers 
sewed it to his mantle? I wonder if every time he 
looks at it new strength will nerve his arm, and if for 
her sake he will serve the cross better? He shall at 
least have all the benefit to be derived from a maiden’s 
prayers, and shall never be unmanned by the knowledge 
of the womanly tears which fall among them. 


CHAPTER III. 

BERNHARD’S NARRATIVE: TO THE SEA. 


“ Brightly gleams our banner, 

Pointing toward the sky, 

Waving wanderers onward 
To their home on high. 

All our ways direct us 
In the way we go, 

Lead us on victorious 

Over every foe.” Processional. 


FTER dear little Nannette’s death there seemed to 



hang over our party a cloud which nothing could 
dispel. The grief of P£re Ignatius was so deep and 
earnest that it was painful to see him endeavor at times 
to rouse himself for the purpose of cheering or helping 
the others, and yet he did rouse himself, and many a 
poor little sufferer was soothed and comforted by his 
kind cares. His skill in leechcraft was the means of 
saving many of the exhausted children from death, and 
to some actually dying his words of faith and Christian 
hope opened the very gates of heaven. But his own 
heart was broken ; he had supremely loved one being 
on earth, and that being now lay asleep in the ancient 
churchyard of Vienne, where his affections lay buried 
also, or perhaps, as I sometimes thought — for he never 
spoke of this — had followed her freed spirit and with it 
entered the pearly gates of the New Jerusalem. 

9 129 


130 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


For days Antoine seemed to walk as in a dream. 
He took no notice of anything by the way, repudiated 
all attempts at conversation made by his cousins, Greta 
or me, and occasionally muttered to himself something 
unintelligible, while tears filled his eyes. The only 
words which I could catch were, “ I promised the 
mother to take care of her, and I have broken my 
word.” Bertholde alone had the power to comfort him. 
She would walk along by his side, scarcely saying any- 
thing, her gay spirits subdued to a sad quietness which 
was quite touching. Occasionally we would repeat one 
of Nannette’s favorite hymns or speak of the beautiful 
country to which she had gone, and Antoine neither 
listened nor heeded. But if Bertholde seemed to falter 
and be ever so slightly wearied, his attention was 
aroused ; he devised means for her comfort, with the 
greatest tenderness and care supporting her on his 
strong boyish arm and saying, 

“ I will at least take good care of one of our treasures, 
and not merit blame from another mother for failing in 
my duty as a knight of the cross; though, indeed, 
Bertholde has no mother to blame me, and so there is 
the more need that I should watch over her.” 

I do not think that Antoine ever expected Nannette 
to die, though PSre Ignatius said that from the moment 
he first saw her changed looks at Vend6me he was sure 
that she could live only a few weeks, and even we 
children felt that she was more like an angel than like 
a human being, and that soon she might fly away from 
us. Antoine considered the fright aud exposure of her 
fall into the river the sole cause of her death, and felt 
as though in some way rested upon him the responsibil- 


AMALIE’S UNCOMPLETED CHRONICLE. 131 


ity of saving the rest of the party from a similar fate ; 
and Bertholde, in assuming Nannette’s gray crusading 
mantle and substantial wooden shoes, seemed to step into 
her place in Antoine’s consciousness, if not in his heart. 
Yet, in looking back, I think it was not exactly a 
brotherly feeling which he had toward her ; perhaps, if 
the children had all come back from the crusade, Ber- 
tholde might have been to Antoine what Amalie is to 
me, only not half so precious. 

Over Bertholde herself had come a great change. 
The gay recklessness which had led her to resist the 
authority of Madame la Fere, to leave her home and 
her affianced husband and wander off after the crusaders, 
to laugh at everything sacred and make light of diffi- 
culties and fatigues, which overcame those so much less 
delicately reared, had passed away. In its place a quiet, 
earnest light had come into her eyes, a womanliness of 
thought and care for others, a steady cheerfulness and 
endurance, which could have been developed only by 
the peculiar circumstances in which she was placed, and 
even then only the good soil of a noble stock could pos- 
sibly have rendered the seed so productive. Bertholde 
still sang, but the gay, light chansons had given place to 
hymns, and her sweet, well-trained voice soothed many 
a tired child to sleep after the day’s weary march. Her 
supper — often given by some chance hand in considera- 
tion of her extreme beauty and her aristocratic appearance 
— was usually shared with those less favored, and her 
weary feet often took many extra steps after their long 
day’s march to minister to the sorrows and the sufferings 
of the other tired little travelers. On Antoine’s remon- 
strating with her for taking so much extra fatigue upon 


132 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


herself, and on performing menial offices for those who 
at home would have been but villeins in the villages 
around her father’s castle, she answered gently;, 

“ i Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of the least of these 
my brethren, ye did it unto me.’ ” 

Pere Ignatius said, 

“Let her alone; it is thus that our heavenly Father 
fashioneth the jewels for his crown, thus he kindleth 
great lights in darkness and thus maketh the wrath of 
man to praise him.” 

There was need now of all that could be done to 
soothe the sufferings and to alleviate the distresses of the 
great army of children, for the fatigues of the journey 
and the unwonted exposure to which we were subjected, 
with the want of proper and regular food, began fear- 
fully to tell upon us. Through all those long summer 
days the sun poured down upon heads which in many 
cases had no covering. The earth was so parched and 
dry that scarcely a blade of grass was to be seen, and 
the wayside streams were so diminished that had it not 
been for the milk which was kindly furnished us from 
the scanty store of the peasants among whom we traveled 
we must all have died of thirst. Occasionally, indeed, 
we were visited by terrible thunder-storms, but these, 
usually occurring at night, were fatal to the tired, 
heated children sleeping along the roadside and in the 
fields. Every morning scores were left dead at our last 
night’s bivouac, and we had neither time nor energy to 
bury them. 

Discipline was at an end ; the leaders could no longer 
be distinguished from their companions in the ranks. 
Even Stephen had left his gay chariot and his prancing 


AMALIE’S UNCOMPLETED CHRONICLE. 133 


horses at Lyons, and continued his pilgrimage, like the 
rest of us, on foot. They said this change was a mark 
of his humility, but I think it was that he might the 
more easily escape from the vengeance which was sure 
to await him when his imposture was discovered. 

Although the children no longer marched in their 
divisions or continued under the guidance of their lead- 
ers, yet these latter still found pretexts to stimulate their 
followers* flagging zeal. The intense heat was said to 
be one of God’s agencies for drying up the sea before 
them ; morning after morning they were assured that 
they should reach Jerusalem before night ; if they sank 
wearily by the wayside, they were roused with the words, 
“ This is not Jerusalem and they were encouraged to 
sing the most inspiriting hymns and chants, in all of 
which were promised speedy victory over the infidels 
and deliverance of the holy sepulchre. And in spite of 
the many deaths and frequent desertions our numbers 
were not much diminished, for in every town and village 
through which we passed multitudes were seized with 
enthusiasm, assumed the cross and pressed on with us in 
our race for the sea. 

At length came a change. On entering beautiful 
Provence, where the air was soft and balmy, the fields 
were green once more, and where luscious grapes hung 
in rich profusion all along the wayside, the children 
thought at last they had reached the promised land. “ Is 
that Jerusalem ?” they would say as some castle would 
appear upon a height, or, “ There is the temple ! Behold 
the holy sepulchre !” when some Roman ruin half hid- 
den among the dense foliage would burst upon their 
view. 


134 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


It was the time of the vintage when we entered 
Provence, and we found the fruit very refreshing to our 
parched lips. Then, too, the scenes through which we 
passed were so gay that the little French children 
clapped their hands with delight and joined once more 
in the merry chansons of the girls who carried grapes 
upon their heads, and of the boys who drove the oxen 
home from the vineyards with their loaded weights of 
purple and gold. 

Now Antoine’s spirits began to rise again. He took 
great interest in all the Roman ruins by which we passed, 
telling us stories which he had learned in his lessons at 
the priory at Rouen. Our whole army filed under the 
arch of Marcus Aurelius at the old town of Orange, and 
Antoine said we were an army of Romans marching to 
victory ; only, he said, “ Constantine must be our leader, 
for he was the first emperor who battled for the cross.” 

It was at the close of a long, bright summer day that 
we climbed to the ridge of a tediously-sloping hill. 
Once this would have seemed a weary undertaking to 
the many little feet, but they were used to hills now, 
and, besides, the soft air, pleasant sights and abundance 
of good food of the last few days had greatly restored 
their strength and spirits. A new morning is a new 
life to children ; if it opens auspiciously, the clouds of 
the day before are all forgotten, and their hopes rise 
again like the beaten-down flowers of a summer’s shower. 
And to the crowds of recruits who so recently had joined 
the army the charm of novelty painted a rainbow of 
hope across the close of every day’s march, and so the 
soft tones of the langue d’oc , chanting the ballads of 
the troubadours, floated among the harsher accents of 


AMALIE’S UNCOMPLETED CHRONICLE . 135 


our more northerly voices in our grand old Latin 
hymns in a chorus of melodious harmony as we toiled 
up this last hill. 

* Then a sudden burst of exclamation came from the 
foremost ranks : “ The sea ! the sea !” The glad sound 
was caught up by the thousands below, and all pressed 
onward to catch a glimpse of the wonderful and long- 
anticipated sight. There it lay, the blue Mediterranean, 
sparkling in the sunlight and dashing its crested waves 
against the fair white city which sat like a queen upon 
its shores. The city before us was not, as many of the 
children supposed, Jerusalem, but Marseilles — the city 
from which so many crusading armies had set sail for 
the Holy Land. 

Thy cousin Richard, who had been very taciturn dur- 
ing the journey, especially since Nannette’s death, here 
suddenly said, 

“ Twenty years ago Richard of England sailed for the 
Holy Land from Marseilles. I am glad we have come 
here too, but I wish we were going to sail across the sea 
in a ship as he did. It ? s nothing to do that ; Robin and 
I were not a bit frightened when we came to France. 
— Were we, old fellow ?” 

“ But,” said a voice, and, looking up I saw Stephen 
of Cloyes standing near us, “ the vision said that we are 
to walk over dry land. The Lord himself will divide 
the sea before us ; and when the infidels who keep the 
Holy City from its rightful owners see us coming, they 
will shake with terror. They will flee without a blow ; 
without the shedding of a drop of blood the city will 
be ours.” 

u I see no pathway,” said Robin. 


136 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


“Wait patiently till morning,” said Stephen, and 
disappeared. 

It was the last time that I ever saw our leader. I 
remember now how his light hair floated on the breeze, 
and how his face, bronzed with its long exposure to the 
summer’s sun, wore a look of perplexity mingled with 
resolution. Was Stephen of Cloyes deceived by others, 
or was he himself a deceiver? The world will nevei 
know. 

By this time we had descended the hill and reached 
the gates of the city, already closed for the night. 
Many of us knocked loudly for admission, which was 
for a long time denied. At length a warder appeared 
above the gateway and demanded in fierce tones, 

“ Who are these that disturb the peace of our ancient 
city when all honest folks should be in bed?” Then, 
raising his eyes and seeing the innumerable host of little 
figures that covered the hillside and the intervening 
plain, he crossed himself and shouted, “Lo! it is a 
band of brownies come to steal away our children, to 
rust our gold and to sink our ships. — Avaunt, Sathanus !” 

But our Antoine, advancing, made answer : 

“Nay, good sir; no sprites of the kingdom of evil 
are we, but the Lord’s warriors bound to rescue the 
holy sepulchre from the hand of the infidel, and to 
plant the cross — whose sign I can make as well as thou 
— upon the summit of the holy mount Zion.” 

“ Thou art malapert, young sir ! How should babes 
such as ye accomplish that wherein so many well- 
equipped armies of warriors have failed? Marseilles 
has had more than enough of crusaders. We have 
given them of our substance and have loaned them our 


AMALIE’S UNCOMPLETED CHRONICLE. 137 


ships, and where is the conquest of the holy sepulchre 
which they promised, after all ?” 

“ But,” said a voice, and another warder also appeared, 
“ thou knowest that we have been well paid for all with 
which we furnished them ; indeed, it has been the cru- 
sades alone which have saved the old Roman town of 
Massilia from dying out like so many of the Proven£al 
cities. It is the crusaders alone who have brought into 
our harbors such shipping that ere long we shall rival 
Venetia, and even Genoa the Superb itself, in our 
commerce. — What want you, manikins?” addressing 
himself to the children outside. 

“ Supper and shelter for one night,” said a voice 
from the crowd — u supper and shelter; and for payment 
we offer the blessing of the Lord of hosts, who giveth 
thy city the priceless privilege of sheltering his victo- 
rious army, and of seeing his mighty power when on 
the morrow he divideth the sea that his warriors may 
pass through dryshod.” 

“’Tis a bold-spoken young warrior,” said the first 
speaker. “ Hie thou to the worshipful lords of the 
council and get their sanction as to the course which 
we shall pursue with regard to the admission within 
the city walls of this strange army of babies.” 

During the warder’s absence the leaders endeavored 
to get the children into something like marching-order, 
and with banners flying, trumpets sounding and the 
grand crusading hymns rolling from their throats the 
children’s army — at least twenty thousand strong — 
stood awaiting its entrance to the last city to be passed 
before it reached the longed-for goal of Jerusalem. If 
we had been older, we might have thought solemnly of 


138 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


the many weeks we had been on our way, mournfully 
of the changes which had taken place since we last saw 
our homes and our parents, sadly of the many com- 
panions whom we had left silent and stiff by the way. 
As it was, but one thought fired our childish hearts, 
but one word passed from lip to lip — that thought, that 
word, “ Jerusalem.” Who would have damped those 
bright hopes with a suggestion of the truth that the 
end of the crusade had not yet been reached? 

At length the blast of a trumpet was heard ; the 
great city gates swung slowly inward, and a long pro- 
cession of senators, burghers and priests appeared, led 
by the bishop of Marseilles, who while extending his 
hands in blessing exclaimed in a loud and solemn voice, 

a Welcome to the Lord’s chosen ones! Behold how 
‘out of the mouths of babes and sucklings he hath 
perfected praise 9 !” 

Now the whole city seemed anxious to do us honor. 
Citizens and nobles thronged the narrow streets or 
crowded out upon the overhanging balconies ; handker- 
chiefs were waved, cheers given, and all united to give 
our tired little soldiers a most enthusiastic welcome. 
But better still was it to those who had so long taken 
what little sleep they could get along the roadside, and 
had lived upon such fare as the charity of the peasants 
provided, to be taken by these kind people into their 
luxurious houses, fed with a rich and comfortable sup- 
per and put to sleep in soft, downy beds. 

As we passed through one of the wider streets — of 
which there are a few in Marseilles — a gayly-painted 
chariot drawn by a pair of prancing horses passed us. 
Our attention was drawn to it, and as we looked the 


AMALIE’S UNCOMPLETED CHRONICLE. 139 


driver stopped his horses at a sign from a richly-dressed 
lady, who, springing from her seat, clasped Bertholde 
de Tourville in her arms, exclaiming amid sobs, tears 
and delighted exclamations, 

“ Angel-child of my lost sister! Is it thus that I 
behold thee? Art thou among the children of the 
canaille , on foot, with bare and bleeding feet? And 
yet thus trod the holy saints of old in their pathway 
of glory. Blessed child, to be numbered among the 
Lord’s chosen ones ! blessed mother, to look down from 
thy heights of bliss upon a child who is thus winning 
for herself a golden crown !” 

‘Much more the lady said in a sort of rhapsody, and 
then, courteously saluting Pere Ignatius, she took up 
our two tired little girls into the chariot with her, and, 
bidding the rest of our party follow on foot, led the 
way to the portal of a splendid palace, where, once more 
alighting, she ushered us across a courtyard paved with 
a mosaic of blue-and-white marble, up a staircase of 
pure white, and along a corridor whose balustrade was 
composed of rosy marble columns, into a great hall 
blazing with light and furnished with magnificent tap- 
estry and cushions, and where such a supper as none 
of us had ever yet seen awaited us poor hungry little 
travelers. 

Berth olde’s aunt — for such the lady proved to be — 
insisted that our whole party should be her guests dur- 
ing our stay in Marseilles, saying that she considered it 
only too great an honor to do this small service for those 
who were going forth and sacrificing their all for the sake 
of the holy sepulchre. She had never before seen her 
niece, having gone directly to the South of France on 


140 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


her marriage; but Bertholde’s likeness to her mother 
was so great that her aunt seemed to see her sister over 
again as she remembered her in the days when both were 
children. 

Very luxurious seemed the couches to which we were 
led at the close of our long, fatiguing march. Never 
before had beds felt so soft as these now felt to those 
who had so long slept in the fields and pillowed their 
heads upon stones, and we soon sank among the downy 
cushions into a dreamless slumber. 

All but Antoine’s English cousins. They disappeared 
soon after supper, and, on returning, Richard said they 
had found the palace in which King Richard had lodged 
on his way to Palestine, and nowhere would they sleep 
but on its door-stone, as became the subjects of England’s 
great monarch, the sworn defenders of the holy sepul- 
chre. It was in vain to argue with them. It became 
not Englishmen, they said, to seek for comfort, nor cru- 
saders to pamper the body, nor knights to lay by their 
armor before the field was won. And so they lay down, 
as they had done many a night before, upon the cold, 
hard stone, to dream of their lion-hearted hero and of 
the glorious entry into Jerusalem that was to take place 
on the morrow. 

“ To-morrow ” ! Yes, the last thought of every sleep- 
ing child in Marseilles that night was of the opening 
sea, the march through dry land and the erection of the 
holy cross upon the sacred battlements which were to 
take place to-morrow. 


CHAPTER IY. 


BERNHARD'S NARRATIVE ( CONTINUED ): DISAP- 
POINTMENT. 

“ To rise at early dawn rosy with hope, 

Hourly to see it fade to ashen gray, 

To seek for fame and glory on life’s slope, 

And linked with disappointment wend our way!” 

S WEET as was the children’s sleep, pleasant as had 
been their dreams, no one slept after sunrise on that 
long-anticipated morning; indeed, numbers, neglecting 
the plentiful breakfast prepared for them by the hospi- 
tality of the good Marseillaise, awaited by the shores of 
the blue sea the first rosy beams. It was low tide, and 
the broad expanse of wet sand, showing where the sea 
had been, seemed to the expectant children a good 
augury. 

“It hath commenced to recede already,” said one. 
“Seest. thou not the ocean’s uncovered bed? Let us 
but wait until the sun is fairly above the horizon, and 
we shall march through dryshod.” 

“ Nay ; that is but the tide,” said a citizen. “ Twice 
every day for forty years have I seen those white sands 
laid bare, yet never hath there opened a pathway across 
the sea.” 

What should our inland army know of the tides? 
Besides, had not our leaders promised us this very 
miracle ? 


141 


142 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


“ Thus it must have appeared to the dwellers by the 
Red Sea,” said Antoine, “ when the great hosts of Israel 
encamped before its borders ; thus did the unbelieving 
heathen scoff at the possibility of the fulfillment of the 
promises of Jehovah.” 

So the children crowded closer and closer to the 
water’s edge, dipping their bare feet in the curling foam, 
which gradually drove them farther back as the tide 
rose, and covered up the beautiful white sand. It 
seemed a very pleasant play, this sporting with the 
breakers, and, though the rising tides lightly disappoint- 
ed their calculations, so jubilant were the spirits of all 
that it was easy to transfer expectation and feel that 
high noon would be the most fitting time for our tri- 
umphal march across the ocean and into the open gates 
of the Holy City. 

Noon came, and dinner-time. Children can eat in 
the most exciting circumstances, and yet but few could 
be persuaded to leave their post of watching even for the 
welcome meal. 

“ Shall w r e not sup in the Holy City ?” said one, 

“ Perhaps Jesus the King will himself sup with us 
as of old with his disciples,” said another. 

Therefore those who had prepared the children’s din- 
ner brought it down to the water-side, and it was eaten 
in haste on the sand. 

And still we watched, and the tide again began to 
fall. The sunbeams shot slantingly across the water, 
the sea-breeze blew cool and fresh into the harbor, and 
the children said, 

“ Now in the sunset’s gold shall we enter the Holy 
City.” 


AMALIE'S UNCOMPLETED CHRONICLE. 143 


Lower sank the sun, more brilliant grew the clouds, 
but nothing appeared to break the glassy surface of the 
waves, until the last rim of gold sank into the western 
waves of the sea, and then a long low wail of disap- 
pointment and despair broke from the hosts of wearied 
and excited children as they turned away from the long 
vigil to seek the hospitality and the shelter accorded 
them the night before. 

For me, I felt that we had been deceived and duped, 
and from that wretched moment I lost faith in Stephen 
and in the crusade. No cause can be built by God upon 
the unstable foundations of deceit, and I felt that this 
crusade of the children had other origin than his will. 
Speaking of my impressions to P&re Ignatius, he said, 

“ Thy words, my boy, are but the echo of that which 
has been rankling in my breast since our departure from 
Vendome. I cannot believe it to be of the Lord to 
send forth an army of innocents to perish like so many 
lambs driven to the shambles, there to await the pleas- 
ure of the slaughtering-knife.” 

“And yet, father, thou dost encourage us by thy 
presence and givest to the enterprise the sanction of thy 
seeming approval.” 

“ I but follow my children whom I have sworn upon 
the holy altar to protect : my home is where they are, 
and henceforward I shall follow them. It may be that 
I can persuade Antoine to abandon this foolish expedi- 
tion and return to Rouen, in which case I shall gladly 
accompany him ; but if he persist in pressing on, 
where he dies I will die, and there will I be buried.” 

The next day the long watch by the seaside recom- 
menced, and lasted till the faithful watchers again 


144 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


returned, wearied and disheartened, to their temporary 
homes ; and this continued for many days. But the 
watchers were daily fewer in numbers : on their first dis- 
covery of the deception, multitudes deserted and at once 
set out on their homeward journey. They were fol- 
lowed by many more in the days which succeeded, and 
many — especially of the girls — were persuaded to re- 
main with the nobles and townspeople of Marseilles. 
Our great army seemed to be melting away like the 
mist. 

We — our party — went no more to the seaside. My 
trust had long been destroyed ; I hoped no more. I 
would have taken Greta and commenced our homeward 
march at once, but Greta would not go. She had under- 
taken, she said, to go to Jerusalem, and to Jerusalem 
she would go. Did not Stephen promise that the sea 
should open a pathway for us ? and had not she seen a 
bird flying toward the ocean with his head turned east- 
ward and his wings extended in the form of a cross, and 
what could that mean but that she was to pass the ocean 
and carry the cross to the Holy City ? So she went day 
by day to wait with the watchers by the seaside, 
while we wandered about Marseilles and its vicinity, 
escorted by Bertholde’s hospitable aunt, Pere Ignatius 
meanwhile describing every point of interest and mak- 
ing very real to me the Phoenician and Roman life 
which once filled this ancient city of Massilia. 

I love to recall my talks with Antoine in those days, 
which I little realized then would be our last together. 
He was so earnest, so enthusiastic, never for one moment 
losing faith in the crusade or in its object, so full of 
interest in the Church’s welfare and in the good of both 


AMALIE’S UNCOMPLETED CHRONICLE. 145 


infidels and Christians ! Moreover, his thoughts were 
constantly turning homeward, and to his mother and 
Amalie he sent many a loving message in case I should 
see them first. I feel sure that had our Antoine lived 
to be a man he would have kindled in Europe a bright 
light which would have illuminated as well as warmed 
many a dark corner. 

“ Bernhard,” said he, “ our dear Lord Jesus has called 
me to this crusade, and I am not going back. True, our 
way seems hemmed in and our path barred across ; we 
have made a mistake in the reading of our orders, but 
that is no reason why we should turn back like recreants, 
when the Lord of hosts bids us go forward. I am sure 
that some way will yet be found by which we can cross 
that sea, since it is i the will of God/ ” 

“ Ships would do it,” laconically observed Richard, 
“ but the shipmasters demand money, and where are 
we to find that ?” with which unanswerable question he 
retired from the discussion. 

“ Ships would do it,” said Antoine one day, “ but, as 
Cousin Richard says, shipmasters want money. I have 
been down to the quays inspecting the shipping in the 
harbor ; there are vessels enough to take our whole army 
to Palestine if only we had the means to pay for them. 
Oh, if God would but open the hearts of these people 
of Marseilles to give us the necessary money, how soon 
all Christendom would rejoice in the rescue of the holy 
sepulchre !” 

“Nay,” said I, “but that would be a far greater 
miracle than the opening of the waters for which we 
so confidently looked.” 

We then wandered together down to the world-re- 
10 


146 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


nowued harbor of Marseilles, and indeed the shipping 
there was a wonderful sight. The harbor is one thou- 
sand feet long, three hundred and thirty broad and about 
twenty feet deep, and into this great sheet of still water 
were crowded many hundreds of vessels of all sizes and 
belonging to all the nations of the Mediterranean. There 
were lordly and graceful galleys, bank of oars rising 
above bank, and arquebus and spear bristling above all. 
Smaller galleons surrounded them, with fewer oars, but 
lighter, and so better calculated for action and for rapid 
motion. Then there were the buzas, which carried in 
their clumsy hulks the riches of Africa and the East, 
and besides the little gulafres and cats were the majestic 
dromonds , many of which, upon whose three upright masts 
were stretched broad lateen sails, trusted themselves en- 
tirely to the propelling force of the wind, discarding the 
safe old method of oars. 

“ So many, and nothing for us !” said Antoine, sadly. 
“ Silks and spices, gold and diamonds; luxury and crime, 
find money and appliances, but the cause of Jesus, the 
King of all, must be lost for want of a few ducats.” 

“ And why need it be lost, young sir?” suddenly 
said a man who, habited as a merchant, like ourselves 
walked along the quay and for some moments had been 
directing his attention rather to us than to the ships. 
“ Who are ye that dare prophecy the downfall of that 
holy cause which has flourished and prospered this twelve 
hundred years ?” 

“Alas, worshipful sir, we are of the children who 
have taken the cross, and, having marched thus far 
toward the Holy Land, are barred from further prog- 
ress by the waters of this great sea.” 


AMALIE'S UNCOMPLETED CHRONICLE. 147 

“And why do ye not cross the sea, little faineant f 
I see no armament to bar your progress.” 

“ Thou makest merry over our misfortunes, good sir ; 
but, since we are neither birds nor fishes, we cannot fly 
nor swim across yon cruel sea, and, since we are pen- 
niless, we cannot pay the owners of yonder ships to 
transport us even as the crusaders of old have ever 
been transported to the haven where they would be.” 

“ But what sayest thou if I tell thee that yonder 
dromond is mine? And yon? and yon? Wouldst thou 
fear to sail in such gallant barks across the waters?” 

“ Nay, nay !” said Antoine. 

“And what if my partner, the worshipful Guillaume 
Porcus, and I, Hugo Ferreus — well known upon the 
corso of Marseilles and well spoken of on the borsa of 
Genoa and the Rialto of Venice — should for the love of 
God, ‘ without money and without price/ put thee and 
thy little companions into those gigantic vessels and 
carry you all safely to Constantinople?” 

“ Sir, sir, thou canst not be in earnest !” cried Antoine, 
trembling with excitement. “ Do not mock our distresses 
with false hopes.” 

“ I am in sober, solemn earnest,” said Hugo, gravely. 
“Shall ye leave home and friends and encounter the 
many hardships of this perilous journey for the love 
of Christ and the holy sepulchre, and we — men whose 
industry and enterprise the Lord hath prospered — sit 
calmly by and refuse to his poor warriors that timely 
aid of which himself hath said, 1 Inasmuch as ye have 
done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye 
have done it unto me’? — Verily, brother Guillaume,” 
turning to another merchant, who had just come upon 


148 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


the scene, “ the boys shame us ; for while we sleep these 
children are awake.* What sayest thou? Shall we 
transport these children of the cross free of charge to 
their destination and win for ourselves a golden meed 
of praise from the Lord of hosts ?” 

“ With all my heart / 7 answered the other . — “ Boy, go 
thou to thy leaders and say to them that so soon as may 
be ships shall be prepared whereby all that choose shall 
be carried safely across the water to the ports of the 
promised land . 77 

Almost beside himself with joy, Antoine ran to the 
seashore, and, shouting, “ A miracle ! a miracle ! The 
Lord hath at last interposed in our behalf , 77 told his 
good news. Then arose a mighty shout echoing far 
over the waters. Tears were dried up, smiles took their 
place, and once more rang out the familiar war-cry, 
“ Dieu le vult!” 

* Remark of Innocent III. on hearing of the crusade. 


CHAPTER Y. 

BERNHA RD 'S NARRA TIVE ( CONCL TIDED) : FARE WELL. 

u He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat ; 

He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment-seat : 

Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer him, be jubilant, my feet ! 

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea 

With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me: 

As he died to make men holy, let us die to make them free.” 

Julia Ward Howe. 

T)UT after this there were great consultations among 
-LJ the children and their leaders. Many dreaded the 
dangers of the sea ; fearful stories had reached us as we 
wandered among the sailors around the ports of Marseilles. 
Satan was said still to hold unbridled sway over the 
ocean, and to cause terrible sicknesses to come upon 
those who trusted themselves to its cruel tender-mercies. 
Evil spirits haunted it by night and by day, flying as 
unclean birds above the masts, which they often 
wrenched from their sockets, overturning the ships 
thereby, or swimming as strange and monstrous fish 
around the prows or beneath the keels of the galleys 
and dragging them into boiling and whirling pools far 
below. A floating mountain full of griffons had been 
known to pursue unwary voyagers, who were saved from 
utter destruction only by often-repeated Paternosters and 
conspicuously-displayed emblems of the Passion of our 
Lord. Winds and waves were reported as being in 

149 


150 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


league against all travelers, but to cherish an especial 
spite for those who bore the cross or traveled toward the 
Holy Land. 

The imaginations of the younger children became 
fearfully excited by all these horrible stories, and large 
numbers flatly refused to go : they had been promised a 
safe passage across the bed of the ocean, not to be float- 
ed to destruction on the surface of its treacherous waves. 
They would not go home and encounter the ridicule and 
scorn of friends who had either entreated them to 
remain or forbidden them to go, but they would wait by 
the seashore and weep and pray ; and when the merciful 
Lord heard their petitions and saw their tears, he would 
surely come to their deliverance and open up the prom- 
ised pathway across the sea. In vain Stephen issued 
his orders : his voice was scarcely listened to ; and, find- 
ing that his authority was wholly at an end, he sud- 
denly disappeared, and I never heard of him again. 

That evening Pere Ignatius had with Antoine a long 
talk in which he made a last attempt to induce the lad 
to return. 

“We have all been deceived, my boy,” said the 
father ; “ I believe not that the will of the Lord for us 
lieth in the direction of Jerusalem. Thou seest how 
the great army hath melted away like the snows in 
spring-time. The numbers which will enter the ships 
will be all too small to take the Holy City from the 
hands of the Saracens, who have so well defended it 
against the combined and repeated attacks of all the 
bravest warriors of Christendom.” 

“ Thou forgettest, father,” said Antoine, very respect- 
fully, “ that we are not to take the city. Not a blow is 


AMALIE’S UNCOMPLETED CHRONICLE. 151 


to be struck, nor one drop of blood to be shed ; the Lord 
will give it to us, and what matters it to him if he doeth 
his work by many or by few ? Nay, I bethink me of 
a story which thyself didst tell me in the pleasant old 
days of St. Gervaise — how, when Gideon was captain 
of the Lord’s host, his two and thirty thousand men 
were too many for God to use in the conquest of the 
Midianites, and so all who were afraid were sent back, 
until there remained but ten thousand ; but even these 
were too many, and so God divided them by another test 
and chose out three hundred men, and with this little 
handful, by ‘ the sword of the Lord and of Gideon/ won 
for himself a great victory over the vast host of the 
Midianites. So will it be when the little remnant of 
our great army stands before the gates of Jerusalem.” 

“But think, Antoine, of thy home — of thy mother 
and little Amalie !” 

“I do think of them, father; it is for my father’s 
sake and that my mother may no longer be grieved by 
his opposition to the holy Church that I joined the cru- 
sade. I think, too, of Nannette, and of how I promised 
her that I would not turn back from the march to Jeru- 
salem. Wouldst thou have me break my sacred promise, 
father?” 

“ But the Church needs thee, my son ; thou wilt be so 
bright a light that the Church’s darkness can ill afford 
to lose thee. Think of the good thou mightest do to the 
Church thou lovest so well ?” 

“ Father, the Lord alone can protect and govern the 
Church, and he will do so when the grave of his dear 
Son is no longer desecrated by the presence and the cus- 
tody of those who worship strange gods. How can my 


152 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


life be better used for the glory of God and of his Church 
than by assisting to set up his kingdom upon the holy 
city of his love?” 

Pere Ignatius, seeing that arguments availed nothing 
with Antoine, turned with a sigh to Bertholde, who 
with kindling eyes and glowing cheeks had been listen- 
ing to every word Antoine had spoken : 

“ Thou, at least, my daughter, wilt allow me to con- 
duct thee in safety to thy castle and thy father, wilt thou 
not ? I will plead earnestly thy youth and inexperience, 
that his anger and that of Madame la F§re may not too 
heavily fall on thee for thy disobedience. Or perchance 
thou wouldst prefer to remain here with thine aunt, to 
whose guardianship I doubt not M. le Due would gladly 
confide thee ?” 

But Bertholde drew up her little figure to its full 
height and said with an air that might have graced a 
duchess, 

“ Mon p&re , noblesse oblige that a De Tourville never 
break her word. I have sworn to go to Palestine, and 
to Palestine I mean to go. If when I was a gay, giddy 
girl I was willing to follow the crusade just to get away 
from home, shall I not, now that you have all taught 
me to love Jesus, go with you even to the land hallowed 
by the tread of his sacred feet?” 

Bertholde’s aunt, far from opposing, applauded her 
niece’s resolution, saying, 

“Ah ! we shall yet have in the family a fair young 
saint before whose shrine all the noble young maidens 
will in future offer their vows. — St. Bertholde, the 
prayers of thy mother’s sister will be thy shield on 
earth, and those of thine already sainted mother are no 


AMALIE’S UNCOMPLETED CHRONICLE . 153 


doubt even now poured out before the throne of Heaven 
for thy safety and success.” 

As Bertholde stood there, her dark eyes flashing like 
stars, her black locks throwing into relief the brilliant 
coloring of her cheeks and her breast heaving, she made 
a very beautiful picture, and I think Antoine, in the 
midst of his high resolves and aspirations, was very 
glad that she was still to be his companion. 

There was now no use in my endeavoring to induce 
Greta to accompany me to Hohenseck : she had turned 
back once from the crusade, and the curse of Heaven 
would be upon her if she ventured to do so again. She 
also had of late had many dreams in which the saints 
urged her to continue her course, promising crowns and 
great honors at its end. Moreover, she was so com- 
pletely fascinated by Bertholde’s beauty and wit that 
even the brother-companion of her childhood seemed 
to have no chance by the side of this romantic devo- 
tion. I knew that my uncle would at once consign her 
to a convent, besides treating her with the contempt he 
is wont to show to women who have neither beauty nor 
lands for their dower ; so I even let her have her way. 
Poor little sister ! I fear I have illy fulfilled the charge 
which our mother gave me when she died and left thee 
to me. 

With regard to the sturdy English boys there never 
seemed a question. They had entered on a pathway of 
action, and the idea of turning back never entered their 
heads ; and, besides, they were delighted with the idea 
of the ships, which had from the first seemed to them 
the most legitimate method of transportation. 

Why did not I too go? Well, I am no coward, as 


154 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


many an eagle’s nest along the crested hills of the Rhine 
can testify, and Count Bernhard’s son need not fear to 
fall before Paynim spears, as his father had done before 
him ; but I had been cheated. I did not believe in the 
crusade ; it seemed' to me that the children were wildly 
rushing to a certain as well as an ignominious death, and 
I hold life to be too sacred a trust from God rashly to 
be thrown away for an idea. Perhaps Amalie and my 
second mother will not blame me too much for my early 
and safe return from the Children’s Crusade. 

Pere Ignatius fully approved of my decision, but an- 
nounced his intention of following the children of his 
love to the end. 

"It may be,” he said, "that I can shield them in 
some danger, comfort them in some extremity, or at 
least speak to them of the love of Jesus when he calls 
them to suffering and to death.” 

The intervening days while the ships were being 
fitted up for the voyage were spent in preparation. All 
Marseilles rang with praise of the liberality of the two 
good merchants, and the citizens, roused to emulation, 
vied with one another in lavishing upon the children 
thus favored of Heaven all that could be of use to 
them in their great enterprise. 

Bertholde’s aunt fitted out each of the children under 
her care with entirely new suits of clothes, wooden shoes 
to replace those so sadly worn and defaced by the jour- 
ney, scarlet mantles with white crosses, broad hats, 
staves, cockle-shells, and whatever else her lively fancy 
suggested as picturesquely becoming to young pilgrims 
on their way to the Holy Land. I suggested that my 
uncle would gladly pay for the articles furnished my 


AMALIE'S UNCOMPLETED CHRONICLE. 155 


sister, but the lady indignantly repudiated the idea, say- 
ing that the children of a noble count who had fallen in 
the cause of the holy sepulchre were the property and 
the care of all Christendom, and that every one must 
consider it a great honor to contribute in any humble 
way for the benefit of the crusades. 

Seven ships were at length ready, and seven thousand 
children had enrolled themselves on the merchants’ 
books as passengers toward the promised land. Pro- 
visions for several weeks had been laid in, and quanti- 
ties of fruit and delicacies sent on board by the inter- 
ested people. 

The morning dawned bright and cloudless, and at 
sunrise the anxious and excited children sprang from 
their light slumbers to rush to the various churches and 
join in the masses which were everywhere offered for 
their safety. Our party were taken by Bertholde’s aunt 
in her carriage to the abbey of St. Victor, whose church 
is the oldest and most celebrated in Marseilles. We 
joined in the celebration of a very solemn mass, and 
then all the children present were first absolved and 
afterward blessed by the abbot, when, pouring out of 
the church, they began rapidly to descend to the quay. 
Here I bade those with whom I had so long been asso- 
ciated a tender and painful adieu. Greta clung to me 
in that last moment, but it was now too late for a re- 
treat, and a gesture from Berth olde drew her obediently 
away. Antoine seized that parting moment to win my 
gladly-given promise to be a son to his mother and a 
protector to his sister, even as he would henceforth be to 
mine. Pere Ignatius gave me his farewell blessing, and 
they were gone. 


156 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


I accompanied Bertholde’s aunt and thousands of 
other spectators to the height of Notre Dame de la 
Garde, which rises close to St. Victor and commands a 
view of the whole town and harbor, and from there 
witnessed the gay scene of embarkation. And it was 
one well worthy of remembrance. Beneath us lay 
the ancient city, sloping gradually toward the harbor, 
where many new stone buildings attested the rising 
prosperity of its commerce. Wooded heights to the 
north and east framed the white picture with green- 
ness, and the deeply-blue waters of the Mediterranean 
seemed, as usual, to be casting the riches of the world 
at the city’s feet. But no ! it was different to-day : the 
world — or, at least, all France — was casting its riches, 
the choicest treasure of any nation, its child-life, at the 
feet of the treacherously smiling sea, to be borne away 
into its vast caverns of darkness and despair. 

The quay was lined with children flitting about in 
restless impatience, their many-colored dresses flashing 
and their gaudy banners flaming in the sunshine. The 
whole city had turned out to witness the departure, and 
the shore for nearly a mile in extent was absolutely in- 
stinct with life. In the harbor rode the seven great 
ships, distinguishable from all others by their high 
poops, from which floated the banners of all nations, 
chiefest among which were the oriflamme and the stand- 
ard of the crusaders. Suddenly a light skiff was seen 
darting from the shore. It reached the nearest ship, 
and a crowd of little ones poured from it upon the deck 
of the waiting vessel; another and another followed, 
and then one in which I recognized Antoine with Ber- 
tholde resting upon his arm. They passed into the 


AMALIE'S UNCOMPLETED CHRONICLE. 157 


largest and handsomest vessel, and from that moment 
my interest was centred upon her. When all the chil- 
dren had reached the ships, the ports which had admit- 
ted them were closed. The castles * were crowded with 
priests and children, and a grand chorus of “Veni, Cre- 
ator Spiritns !” arose upon the air. I almost repented 
of my decision then, and wished myself on board, while 
on every side arose the disappointed and regretful cries 
of those whose fears had held them back until it was 
too late. 

Now the ships began to move — slowly at first, then 
more rapidly. The fresh breeze filled the sails; the 
heavy iron chain which is always drawn across the 
mouth of the harbor as a safeguard against pirates was 
withdrawn, and in a few moments the whole fleet was 
floating buoyantly past the steep rock whereon we stood. 
Our ship — the one whereon our dear ones were embarked 
— came so close that as it passed under me I could see 
all six grouped together at the foot of one of the masts. 
They were singing “ Jerusalem the Golden,” in which I 
had so often joined with them, but they paused to rec- 
ognize me. Antoine pointed to the east and then to 
heaven, Bertholde shouted “ Farewell !” as I guessed by 
her gesture, Greta threw me a kiss, Richard and Robin 
pointed to the crusading lion which floated among the 
banners above their heads, and P§re Ignatius extended 
his hands in blessing. So they glided slowly from sight. 
Mile after mile was added to the distance between us ; 
soon we ceased to distinguish one ship from the other, 
and by nightfall I realized that I had for ever parted 
with all that was dearest to me. 

* The elevated sterns of the vessels. 


158 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


Forever? Yes, for those seven ships sailed not to 
glory and to victory, as we then supposed, but straight 
into darkness and death, and never till the seas give up 
their dead and the secrets of the great ocean-caverns are 
revealed shall we know the terrible fate of those seven 
thousand ill-fated innocents. 

Thus doth Bernhard always end his mournful tale, 
but the mother still believeth — fondly and foolishly, he 
saith — that somewhere on the earth’s surface Antoine is 
yet alive. His name always lingers in her prayers, day 
by day she watches for his return, and she hath com- 
missioned Bernhard, when he reaches the Holy Land, to 
make diligent search and bring her back some tidings 
of her lost boy. 


BOOK IV. 


BERTHOLDE’S REMINISCENCES. 





- 




























































. 

' 






















. 

























I 










CHAPTER I. 


A NOBLE DEMOISELLE. 

“ There was a time when meadow, grove and stream, 

The earth, and every common sight, did seem 
Appareled in celestial light, 

The glory and the freshness of a dream.” 

Wordsworth. 

I WONDER if there ever was a time when I did not 
love Antoine ? If there was, I cannot remember it. 
How I used to watch him from the carriage windows as 
I drove with Madame la F&re through the market-place 
and along the boulevards at Rouen, and wish I was 
one of the city children that I might have the right to 
play with him or to walk by his side ! How I used to 
cover the pages of my drawing-book with sketches of 
his face and imagine every knight whose form was 
embroidered into my tapestry an exact image of what 
Antoine would be when he grew up and bore arms at 
the tournaments ! for that he was not a noble never 
troubled me. I remember that one day Madame la 
Fere discovered some of these efforts of genius, and I 
received a long grave lecture on the impropriety of the 
daughter of a duke even thinking about a bourgeois 
boy. 

Oh, I did hate Madame la Fere ! and when I was 
sent to amuse myself in the stately pleasaunce I would 
11 161 


162 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


pile up the stones and the turf into a figure which I 
would fancy looked like her and call it “ Madame 
Propriety/’ and then Fidele and I would run races at it 
till we knocked it down, and trampled on it in our fury. 
Poor Fid&le ! I wonder if he is yet alive? I longed to 
take him with me when I ran away, but dared not lest 
his barking should betray me ; so I softly kissed his 
silky ears as he lay curled up on his satin cushion, and 
stole quietly away before he woke. Dear Fidele ! the 
one only thing which I loved and which loved me in 
my child-life ! For I never knew Madame ma Maman, 
and Monsieur mon Papa was always in attendance upon 
the king, and M. le Compte — Ah ! I hated him 
worse than I did even Madame Propriety ; and when 
he gave me bonbons, I always hid them till he was out 
of sight, and then gave them to Fiddle, who ate them 
quite contentedly, not knowing from whose hands they 
came. I think he would have refused them had he 
known, for I taught him to bark whenever monsieur 
appeared, and he returned with interest the dog’s evident 
ill-will. 

I had another reason for loving Fiddle, though I 
never told any one. Whom had I to tell? It arose 
from an adventure we had once in driving through 
Rouen. The dear little fellow was standing on my 
knees with his paws upon the edge of the window and 
his small nose quietly resting upon them, when a great, 
savage-looking bull-dog sprang from a butcher’s shop 
and began to bark furiously at the carriage. I only 
laughed at his foolish rage, till Fidele, never thinking 
how small he was, jumped clean out of the window and 
attacked him. I have been told that big dogs will never 


BERTHOLDE’S REMINISCENCES. 


163 


touch little ones, but this savage brute was an exception. 
He grabbed poor little Fiddle by the neck and began to 
shake him as if he had been a rat. In one minute more 
there would have been an end of my poor little pet, 
when a brave little boy of the people rushed up and 
caught the big brute in such a way as made him drop 
Fiddle, whom the footman at once deposited — unhurt, 
though very much frightened — in my lap. u Throw 
the peasant some pence,” said Madame la Ffere ; but the 
boy shook his dark head and turned his bright face upon 
us, saying, “ I don’t want to be paid : I can’t see a big 
strong fellow kill a little one,” and ran off. That was 
my first sight of Antoine. 

I suppose I was a very wicked little girl, to run away 
from my home as I did. I have repented of the sin and 
long ago found forgiveness from the dear Lord who 
died that I might be forgiven, but for the act I have 
never been sorry. No ; though I have passed through 
such dangers and difficulties as in childhood I little 
dreamed of, though I may never again see Antoine till 
we meet in heaven, and though I am here a slave in 
Bujeieh, encompassed by perils from which only the 
strong right hand of the Lord in whom I trust can 
deliver me, I still deliberately say that I have never for 
one moment been sorry that I entered upon the crusade. 
For did not Antoine learn to love me during that 
long summer march, even as I had long loved him? 
Did he not guard me with all his boyish strength and 
skill, and alleviate so far as he was able the dangers and 
the difficulties of the way? And did he not assure me 
in that last agonized hour of parting that nothing should 
ever cause him to forget me, and that, wherever he 


164 


THE FATE OF THE INF 0 CENTS. 


should be sold into slavery, when he grew to manhood 
he would manage to free himself and come back to 
claim me ? Alas ! we neither of us then knew what 
slavery was. I have long ceased to look for Antoine’s 
coming here ; our next meeting will be in a world of 
freedom where there are no more slaves. 

Then, too, I learned to know and to love Nannette, 
that child-angel whom our merciful God sent to lead me 
to a knowledge of himself. For I, a noble child of 
France, was as ignorant of the true religion as are any 
of these poor heathen souls around me in this place, and 
more careless of its worship and precepts than any Mo- 
hammedan ever is of his. Nannette’s enthusiastic de- 
votion to the name and the cause of Jesus seemed to 
me wondrously beautiful, and by degrees I began to 
wonder why I was not more like her, and to feel my- 
self unworthy to remain in the company of those who 
were honestly enlisted under the banner of the cross. 
It seemed, too, as though I was so sinful that if I 
attempted to approach the holy God he would frown 
me for ever away from his presence. 

I told all this to Nannette one evening when we were 
alone. 

“ Nay,” said she, “ but what was the cross for if not 
to save just such sinners as thou and I ? If our sins 
were not too great for God to forgive without it, where 
would have been the necessity for his inuocent Son to 
suffer such dreadful things upon Calvary? If we could 
have won God’s smile, what need was there for Jesus to 
win it for us ? If we had not closed the gates of heaven 
by our wickedness, what need for him to open them by 
his blood ? Jesus is living yet, Bertholde; he ever stand- 


BERTHOLDE’S REMINISCENCES. 


165 


eth at the right hand of God to make intercession for us. 
Did not Pere Ignatius tell you so in Rouen ?” 

Dear Nannette had a way of making things seem 
very real, and while she was speaking and looking up 
to heaven it almost seemed to me that I could see the 
Lord himself standing and pleading for me. By degrees 
I came to understand a little of how much he has done 
for me and for everybody, and to love him a little be- 
cause he has loved me so much. And then I longed 
to do something to prove my love. Dear Pere Ignatius 
showed me that the best way of doing this was to relieve 
the wants or sorrows of those for whom Christ died. I 
have found it a sweet service, and even here in slavery 
my dear Saviour has given me many opportunities of 
ministering through others unto him. His love and his 
promises have never failed me. He has been my stay 
and my support through these seven long, weary years, 
during which I have never heard one word of home, 
of kindred or of Antoine, have never listened to a prayer 
nor entered a church-aisle. In this dearth of all other 
privileges the Lord himself has been my Temple and my 
Teacher, and has constantly fanned with the breathings 
of his Holy Spirit the flame that, little Nannette helped 
to kindle on the banks of the Rhone. When I think 
of all this, and of the worldly woman of the court which, 
had I remained at home and married the count, I might 
now have been, I say again I am not sorry that I ran 
away. 

And yet I am very lonely at times, for Greta, so long 
my faithful companion and friend, has left me. I ought 
not to mourn for her; she has escaped from slavery, 
and no one can buffet or ill-treat her more. She has 


166 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


entered into the light, and what she saw bnt dimly here 
in the night-watches is clear in the revealings of that 
eternal morning. She has passed through temptation, 
and victory is now the atmosphere which she breathes ; 
toil, pain and weariness are over, for she has entered 
upon that rest which remains for the people of God. 
But I am very lonely in the great heathen city, and 
therefore I have begged the use of writing-materials and 
begun to note down my reminiscences, that I may in 
this way, as it were, talk with my own life. 

Of all things which Madame la Fere forced me to 
do, the one I most hated was learning to write. In 
vain I pleaded that William of Normandy could only 
sign his state documents with a cross, and that Bich- 
ard Coeur de Lion, with hosts of English and French 
barons, could not even write his name ; she was inexo- 
rable, making me copy out the sentence, “Knowledge is 
power, ” and saying, 

“The day is coming, Bertholde, when this accom- 
plishment will confer on its possessor as much honor as 
it has heretofore reflected disgrace.” 

This reasoning, however, had little effect upon me 
until I discovered that I could spell out Antoine’s name, 
and then the acquisition of the crooked characters be- 
came one of the delights of my life. And now I have 
found for the accomplishment a use of which Madame 
la Fere little dreamed. At this long distance of time 
and space I can beguile the weary hours with telling 
myself over again the story of these sad seven years. 


CHAPTER II. 

BETBA YED. 


u Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll ! 

Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain. 

Man marks the earth with ruin ; his control 
Stops with the shore : upon the watery plain 
The wrecks are all thy deed ; nor doth remain 
A shadow of man’s ravage save his own, 

When for a moment, like a drop of rain, 

He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, 
Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined and unknown.” 


Byron. 



HEN Antoine and I, followed by the rest of our 


' * party, first stepped upon the deck of the great ship 
on which we embarked for Palestine on the last day of 
August, 1212, we laughed at the fears of those who had 
remained behind because of the dangers of the sea. 

“ This is no boat,” said we, remembering the small 
skitfs we had seen tossed about by the rapid waters of 
the Rhone : “ this is a castle upon the ocean, so firm 
and steady that all the winds of heaven can never 
move it, and the billows can never even rock so state- 
ly an edifice.” 

To this Signor Hugo, who was with us to the last 
moment, enthusiastically assented. Hugo Ferrens! 
“ Hugo the Good,” the people of Marseilles called him. 
Ah ! if they only knew all about him that we afterward 


167 


168 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


learned, would they give him that appellation ? When 
I remember him, I often think of the fable which 
Madame la Ftire made me learn about the wolf in 
sheep's clothing, and even in the face of all the suffer- 
ing he has brought upon us I cannot but smile when I 
think how very white and soft his fleece was, and how 
well he lined it with the gold of African slave-dealers, 
while professing such disinterested devotion to the cause 
of Christ and the holy sepulchre. 

Our dromond was named the “Ship of the Cross." 
The standard whose sign was so dear to us crusaders 
floated gayly from its castle, and Antoine, looking at it, 
said, 

“Sailing under such a banner, where can we sail but 
to victory?" 

At that moment the priests upon our vessel began to 
chant the “Venite, Creator Spiritus," and we felt as 
though it were indeed the Spirit of the Lord that was 
filling our white sails and bearing us so swiftly toward 
his holy city. 

Our delusion about the stability of our vessel was 
soon dispelled, however, for immediately after passing 
the point of Notre Dame de la Garde, where we all 
signaled a last farewell to young Count Bernhard and 
the noble countess my aunt, it began to roll from side 
to side, and to pitch forward in such a frightful manner 
that the air was soon rent with the shrieks and the cries 
of some of the children, who fancied we were at once 
going to the bottom. But, being reassured by the 
sailors, who told us that ships always behaved in that 
manner when on the ocean, we amused ourselves, as the 
afternoon wore on, in watching one crested w T ave chase 


BERTHOLDE’S REMINISCENCES. 


169 


another across the emerald sea, which contrasted with 
the purple hues close to the shore, and they again with 
the white-winged gulls which occasionally dipped their 
beaks beneath the waters in pursuit of fish. I never 
saw such a sunset as I saw that night. All the colors 
seemed mingled in a sea of fire and glory which spread 
over the whole south-western sky, as far, P§re Ignatius 
told us, as the narrow straits which the ancient heathens 
called the “ Pillars of Hercules.” I never think of 
heaven now — and I think of it very often — but a 
picture of that wonderful sunset comes up before me, 
and I fancy myself with Antoine scaling those golden 
heights to reach the glory beyond. Patience ! We 
shall do it some day, and I am sure the greatest glory 
lies out of sight. 

But before long only a few of us were in a condition 
to look at the ocean or to admire sunsets. Pitiful were 
the cries which our poor companions sent forth as they 
rolled from side to side in the agonies of seasickness, 
and longing plaints arose for the absent mothers whose 
gentle hands had ever been wont to soothe in moments 
like these. Those who were not sick endeavored to 
take care of those who were, and I am glad to think 
that almost my last recollections of Antoine are connected 
with his gentle, almost womanly care of me. Pere 
Ignatius also went from one to another, showing, as he 
had done from the outset of our journey, his resolute 
obedience to the command which he said his Lord had 
given him : “ Feed my lambs.” Blessed Father Igna- 
tius ! if ever there was a saint upon earth, it was he. 
Perhaps he is even now wearing that crown which he 
won while among us here. 


170 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


For two days and nights our course had been a most 
prosperous one ; the ships seemed to fly before the 
wind. We passed the dark rocky shores which the 
sailors said were Corsica, and the whiter strand of 
Sardinia, with such rapidity that every one said, “ In a 
few days we shall see the sacred shores of the Holy 
Land.” Our seven ships kept very close together, but 
of necessity some were obliged to stand farther off from 
the land than the others ; to this circumstance, perhaps, 
our- outer line owed its safety. The third morning a 
great wind began to blow from the west, tossing the 
ships about like feathers. All day the gale blew, 
stronger and fiercer every hour, and by the afternoon 
there was a terrible tempest. The captain ordered us 
all below, and then closed the entrance to the hold ; and 
there we were crowded together in that suffocating at- 
mosphere for many hours. Every few moments a great 
wave would dash against the side of the ship with 
a force which threatened to break her to pieces. The 
children, thrown with great violence to the other side, 
would then shriek and scream, all believing that a 
terrible death stared them in the face. In vain the 
priests endeavored to quiet them by telling them that if 
they died now they would go directly to heaven as truly 
as if they had fallen upon the battlefields of Palestine, 
since they had secured heaven by assuming the cross. 
In vain the priests pronounced absolution of our sins and 
promised us crowns of triumph such as even the older 
crusaders had never attained. Terror had complete do- 
minion ; it was Jerusalem, not heaven, they were seek- 
ing, aud they wanted all the good things which had 
been promised them before leaving home. They pre- 


BERTHOLDE’S REMINISCENCES. 


171 


ferred life to death, jeweled crowns to angelic diadems, 
and they refused to be comforted. 

The scene was so frightful that at last I persuaded 
Antoine to take me on deck, where I at least could not 
hear the other children’s cries. Having found a quiet 
nook where, sheltered behind the bulwarks, we could 
watch the storm without being exposed to the violence 
of the waves, we saw all its wonderful grandeur. With 
Antoine standing so close to me I could not feel afraid, 
and somehow God seemed to be very near to me just 
then. 

“ Did not Jesus walk upon the waters?” said I to 
Antoine. “ It was to the stormy sea that he said ‘ Peace, 
be still P ” 

“ Yes, Bertholde ; and when he gives the peace which 
he has promised, nothing can ever take it away.” 

There was a lull in the storm, and in that moment of 
silence a sailor shouted, “ The island of Falcons ! the 
Hermit’s Rock !” and I heard a comrade answer: “Ah ! 
if we can but weather that, we shall be in smooth water 
and safe.” 

I looked from our place of concealment, and there, 
directly abreast of us, rose a tall rocky island with a sol- 
itary detached rock at its base. But between us and 
it were two of our ships, rushing furiously toward a 
line of white breakers which rolled and curved around 
the rocky shore. We watched them in breathless sus- 
pense for a moment, and then — O God ! can I ever 
shut the awful vision from my sight? — both were dashed 
with fury against the rocks, and they fell to pieces with 
the blow. I saw white arms stretched imploringly up- 
ward, white bodies tossed on the crests of the waves, 


172 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


then I lost all consciousness and fainted in Antoine’s 
arms. When I came to myself, we were safe. Our 
five remaining ships had weathered the Hermit’s Rock, 
and we waited in quiet waters until the storm should 
abate. 

Mournful were the lamentations of the children when 
they heard what had occurred. Not all parties had been 
so fortunate as we were in securing passage together on 
the same ship. The brothers and the sisters of some 
of our children had been on those fated vessels, and 
with all we had been in daily companionship during the 
many weeks of our march through France. It was 
terrible to think of those we had known and loved so 
suddenly engulfed beneath the dark waters, and we 
shuddered when we remembered how nearly we had 
shared their fate. Pere Ignatius called on us to join 
him in a solemn act of thanksgiving as soon as we were 
really out of danger, and I believe that many young 
hearts learned to realize that day, for the first time, that 
it is the Lord’s hand alone which is between us and 
sudden death. 

“ It is as I told thee, father,” said Antoine. “ Re- 
member Gideon’s three hundred ; the Lord is reducing 
our numbers that he may show the victory to be all his 
own.” 

Once more for three or four days our hopes were buoy- 
ant. We should soon see Jerusalem now ; our dangers 
and our difficulties were all passed. The winds were 
fair, the ocean was glassy. We were sailing southward, 
and as we sailed spicy odors were wafted to our vessels ; 
the fragrance of fruits and flowers floated upon every 
gale. Surely we must be very near to that “ glo- 


BERTHOLDE ’S REMINISCENCES. 


173 


rious land” “ flowing with milk and honey” of which 
we had heard so much. Once more the crusading 
hymns arose from the children’s voices, once more bright 
anticipations of what we would do in Jerusalem passed 
from lip to lip. Alas ! all this brightness was like the 
flickering sparks of the candles they make here in Bu- 
jeieh, which brighten for a moment and then go out 
into utter darkness ; for never again after that dreadful 
night was one of those unfortunate children to see a ray 
of hope’s sunlight. 

Antoine came to me suddenly with a face white as 
ashes, trembling lips and eyes that glowed like fire : 

“ Listen, Bertholde ! We are betrayed. Ferrens and 
Poreus are slave-dealers ; they have sold us all to the 
infidels. That was the meaning of their liberality and 
their devotion to the cause of God. I have heard it all 
in a conversation between the captain and a dark, ill-fa- 
vored Mohammedan who, it seems, has been secreted 
on board all this time. To-morrow the delivery is to 
take place. The girls are all to be put into one ship 
and sold in some town upon the coast of Africa, and the 
boys are to be carried somewhere farther east. Oh, 
Bertholde,” cried he, breaking into a sudden flood of 
sorrow, “how can I ever be parted from thee? To 
think of thee a slave — thee, the little lady of Tourville, 
exposed in thy beauty and innocence to hardship, insult 
and worse than death at the hands of the very infidels 
we have come to conquer, and I no longer near to pro- 
tect thee ! I cannot have it so. And it was I who led 
thee here — I, who would gladly die if so I might only 
save thee from this dreadful fate.” 

It was now my turn to comfort Antoine ; so, though 


174 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


my heart was breaking as I thought of that mysterious 
horror we had heard called “ slavery,” I said as cheer- 
fully as I could, 

“ Nay, Antoine ; it was God who led me here that I 
might learn the dear love of Jesus and trust at all times 
only in him. Have no fear for me ; he will protect me 
still. Suffering will but make me like him, and dis- 
honor can never touch Bertholde de Tourville.” 

I cannot bear to dwell upon the terrible scenes of the 
next day. Early in the morning all the girls — and there 
were nearly a thousand of us — were taken in skiffs to 
the smallest of our ships and separated for ever from 
the boys and the priests who had so long been our com- 
panions. Antoine had said many loving things to me 
during the night-hours, and we parted strong in the 
hope that somehow or somewhere we should meet again. 
Pere Ignatius prayed long and fervently with us and 
commended Greta and me to the loving care of the 
Lord Jesus, since he could do no more for us. He also 
slipped into my hand the one priceless treasure which 
all these seven years has been my only consolation and 
stay. 

“ I bought it from a merchant we met near Lyons,” 
he said. “ I thought never to part with it, but thou 
wilt need it more than I. I have its contents all stored 
in my memory and grafted in my heart.” 

Then our dear friend folded us in his arms and 
blessed us, and it was all over. The parting was over, 
my young life was over, my hopes were over, and all 
my joy — or, at least, so it seemed to me as I uncon- 
sciously pressed in my hands the little sacred volume. 

I have no recollection of anything that occurred for 


BEE TH OLDE ’S REMINISCENCES. 


175 


many long months after that hour of parting. Greta 
told me afterward that I walked and moved as if in a 
dream, neither noticing any one who spoke to me nor 
answering anything that was said. The slave-dealers 
into whose hands we had fallen tried in vain to rouse 
me, and at last — all concluding that, like many others 
of the children, I had completely lost my senses in con- 
sequence of my misfortunes — I was bought at the slave- 
market for a trifling sum merely because the emir who 
gave a large amount for Greta on account of her appar- 
ent strength and capacity had compassion upon her dread- 
ful agony at the prospect of being separated from me. 
Thus low had the gay, proud Bertholde de Tourville fall- 
en ; thus doth the Lord humble us that in due time he 
may exalt us. And, indeed, he hath greatly exalted his 
unworthy handmaiden, in that he hath enabled her to 
speak the words of everlasting life into the ears of 
many a poor soul in this heathen city, and in the 
very palaces of his enemies to tell of his wonderful 
love. 

I was very kindly treated at first — the Mohammedans 
believe that insanity is a direct visitation of God, and 
that his immediate and eternal curse will fall upon any 
one who ill-treats the insane — but poor Greta had to 
bear both blows and curses for her awkwardness at the 
heavy service she was called upon to perform. Morning, 
noon and night was she driven by the lash of the slave- 
driver to tasks that her young frame, but for the hard- 
ening process it had gone through in the Rhine forests, 
would have been utterly incapable of performing. She 
lived a life of tears, and a sullen spirit of defiance to 
all around took such possession of her that she seemed to 


176 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


court rather than to avoid the ill-treatment which she 
received. And yet, faithful to her one love, she man- 
aged to take excellent care of me, and it is to her patient 
watchfulness and untiring efforts once more to arouse 
my interest in life that I owe my final awakening to a 
consciousness of external things. 

I remember very well the time of that awakening. 
It was eventide, and such a luxurious languor and soft- 
ness floated in the air as only the burning heat of a 
Southern climate, tempered by the cool breeze of the 
Mediterranean, can produce. I was in a garden en- 
closed on three sides by walls, over which climbed luxu- 
riant vines of passion-flowers and pomegranates, the 
scarlet blossoms of the latter forming a brilliant contrast 
with the masses of Cape jasmines and white camellias 
which were grouped together here and there. Golden 
oranges hung among their dark-green foliage, and gray, 
silvery olive-leaves fluttered stiffly in the light breeze. 
On the fourth side ran a low marble parapet from which 
shelved a terrace, and below lay a view which only a 
painter or a poet could adequately portray. A city of 
marble palaces and domes, with here and there a golden- 
tipped minaret glittering in the rays of the setting sun 
and half buried in masses of rich, dark foliage, rose tier 
upon tier around a bay whose bosom lay placid as a lake 
until it reached the dancing waters of the green sea be- 
yond. My eyes took in — almost unconsciously at first 
— this rich variety of coloring, and then my ears became 
aware of the notes of countless birds, followed by the 
sounds of Greta’s familiar voice. 

“ Come in, dearest,” she said ; “ the night-dews will 
do thee harm.” 


BERTHOLDFNS REMINISCENCES. 


177 


“ Greta !” I said, wonderingly turning my eyes upon 
her ; but the word and the look were enough. 

“She has come back !” she shrieked; “the soul is 
returned !” and, bursting into a passion of tears, clasped 
me convulsively again and again. 

Greta’s extreme agitation, forcing me to soothe and to 
comfort her, still more roused my dormant faculties, and 
in a short time I was again Bertholde de Tourville. 
Conscious life, with its old burdens, its old responsi- 
bilities and its old blessings, had come back. It was 
not a gay, careless life to which I had returned ; its 
burdens were more tangible than its blessings. Of the 
grandeur of its responsibilities I had as yet little concep- 
tion, but in this first moment of realized exile and 
slavery I kneeled down, even as my Lord had once 
knelt among the trees and shrubs of the garden, and 
thanked him from the bottom of my heart. 

Greta would have counseled me to feign continued 
insanity that the gentle treatment which I had received 
might continue to be exercised, and when I shrank from 
the thought of such deceit said that it was no sin to 
cheat infidels, since the crusaders consider the surest 
path to heaven to be through their blood. She told me, 
moreover, of terrible things which had to her knowledge 
already happened among the slaves, but I could not 
bring myself to tell a lie, and the next morning pre- 
sented myself by Greta’s side among the gangs of 
workers. 

The overseer looked surprised, but said nothing, and 
presently we were chained, two and two together, to a 
long rope capable of thus accommodating over a hun- 
dred slaves. Among these I saw several of my old 
12 


178 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


companions, whose look of hopeless wretchedness went 
to my heart, but the greater number were men and 
women in the lowest stages of degradation, swarthy and 
ferocious-looking — Moors, stolid Nubians and one or 
two Arabs, whose sinister looks suggested assassinations, 
or something worse. They laughed and talked together 
in various languages, and their uncouth gestures and 
hoarse, coarse laughter rang unpleasantly upon my ears. 

But every voice was hushed as the sharp crack of a 
lash, applied to the shoulders of the foremost couple of 
the gang, announced that our day's toil had began. Our 
work was merely to pass from hand to hand the buckets 
filled with water by which the terrace-gardens of .the 
emir were irrigated and kept in such a wonderful state 
of luxuriance and beauty. The buckets were not heavy, 
for they were supported by the rope to which we were 
chained, but the sun shone with tropical fierceness, we 
were bareheaded beneath its rays and barefooted upon 
the burning stones. Moreover, being chained in couples 
as we were, any change of position was impossible ; the 
slightest attempt at shifting or any manifestation of 
weariness was immediately visited with the lash. As 
the day wore on the monotony became intolerable. A 
short time was allowed us at noon for a meal of hard 
bread, dates and water, and then the steady passing of 
buckets began again. 

As with blistering hands and feet, aching head and 
stiff limbs I followed the sullen gang at nightfall to 
their sleeping-quarters, I looked with reproachful eyes 
at the wonderful beauty and fertility of Bujeieh, at- 
tained at such a fearful price. We all entered a long, 
low stone building strewed thickly with rice-straw, and 


BERTHOLDE’S REMINISCENCES. 


179 


here, locking us in, the overseer left us for the night. 
Men, women and children were together in promiscuous 
masses ; those who were utterly exhausted were left to 
sleep, and others to make the night-air hideous with 
ribald songs, jests and shoutings. 

And this was to be my future home, this my life; 
these were to be the companions of my youth and middle 
age! Oh, what would Antoine say if he could see me 
now ? and Madame la F£re ? The thought of Madame 
Propriety's horror at seeing “ Lady Bertholde " actually 
going to sleep among those horrible men and women for 
a moment quite overcame all the wretchedness of the 
situation, and made me laugh aloud. Thank God for 
laughter ! It is one of his bright angels, who is not 
in general sufficiently recognized. That laugh, albeit 
Greta looked at me in dubious anxiety and some of the 
more pitying slaves whispered, “ Mad indeed !” relaxed 
the tension of my overwrought mind and body. It 
soon turned into a shower of bright tears, upon which 
faith painted a rainbow of hope whose arch spanned all 
the dark pathway between the slave-kraal and the bet- 
ter land. That laugh enabled me to realize that the 
mighty Lord who through suffering “ led captivity cap- 
tive ” would never break his pledged word to be “ with 
me always." It enabled me in quiet confidence and 
rest in him to sink calmly to sleep at the close of that 
first day of realized slavery. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE WONDERFUL STORY. 


“I love to tell the story: more wonderful it seems 
Than all the golden fancies of all our golden dreams; 

I love to tell the story, it did so much for me, 

And that is just the reason I tell it now to thee. 

“I love to tell the story: ’tis pleasant to repeat 
What seems, each time I tell it, more wonderfully sweet; 
And when in scenes of glory we sing the new, new song, 
’Twill be the old, old story that we have loved so long.” 

Kate Hankey. 

M Y first day’s experience was repeated day by day 
with no change, no variation. Occasionally I felt 
a touch of the lash, but not often. Greta, however, 
seemed to be a chosen mark for both blows and curses, 
and often in the few hours wherein conversation was 
allowed us wished that she had been in one of the two 
ships which the storm had destroyed, and that she were 
now sleeping quietly at the foot of the Hermit’s Rock. 

One day some friends of the emir were brought by him 
to inspect the gardens, and also the system of irrigation 
which produced such good effects. By this time I had 
become somewhat familiar with the language, and over- 
heard one of the guests say, 

“ But who, most noble emir, is the houri yonder be- 
side yon grinning Nubian ?” 

180 


BERTHOLDE’S REMINISCENCES. 


181 


“That?” said a tall, dignified man whom I had 
never before seen, but whom I judged to be the emir, 
our master, giving me a long glance of inspection. 
“That must be one of the French children whom our 
trusty agents Ferreus and Porcus sent us over so 
cleverly from Marseilles. I purchased some few of 
them, but have not particularly noticed this one be- 
fore.” 

“And dost thou hold such flesh and blood as that 
cheap enough to be used for such common work ? If 
yonder dainty morsel were mine, I would so care for it 
that in a few years it should command what price I chose 
from the purveyors of the sultan's hareem. Depend 
upon it, O astute Yulef, thou hast a future fortune in 
that young giaour .” 

I heard no more, but two hours afterward a Nubian 
slave habited in gorgeous apparel of silks of many dyes 
came toward the driver of our gang, imperiously order- 
ing him to unchain me. He then beckoned me to fol- 
low, and, leading the way through the gardens to the 
house, we entered a low-arched portal ; proceeding for 
some way along a narrow covered gallery, we were soon 
in the apartments of the women. 

A paved court composed of alternate squares of black 
and white marble, covered with a light striped awning 
which tempered without excluding the light of day, a 
fountain in the centre where perfumed waters inces- 
santly trickled from a thousand minute jets over circlets 
of delicate green plants, a pillared cloister surrounding 
three sides with, arched roof and silken hangings and 
furnished with luxurious divans and Persian mats, small 
cell-like rooms opening by doors from the cloister, with 


182 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


apertures for air in the roof and furnished with bed 
and toilet-table with its appliances, — first met my gaze. 
A long vaulted room at the fourth side of the court, 
opposite to that where we had entered, seemed in- 
tended for a dining-room. It opened by casements 
and doors upon the terrace-garden, and of course com- 
manded that glorious view of Bujeieh and the sea. 
Voluptuous Mohammedan women reclining in various 
attitudes upon the divans, with slaves to wait upon and 
fan them, children of all ages playing around the courts, 
the voice of laughter, the song of birds, sweet odors and 
the music of falling waters, — such was the home and 
such were the companions to which I was now intro- 
duced ; such have been my constant surroundings for 
these seven years. “ The lot has fallen to me in pleas- 
ant places” so far as outward things are concerned. I 
have great cause to thank the Lord who has so tempered 
to me the hard lot of slavery. But it is slavery still. I 
had rather breathe the pure air of liberty upon the hills 
of France, rather share the hard work and the harder 
fare of her peasant-children, than languish in this per- 
fumed atmosphere and live this luxurious life — a slave. 

A room with all needful comforts was furnished me, 
rich apparel, cosmetics, baths and jewels — all that could 
serve to heighten my beauty and restore me to health. 
No menial services were required of me, and I soon 
began to recover the strength and spirits which had 
been sadly shattered by the fatigues and sorrows of the 
summer now fully past. I was an object of great 
curiosity and interest to all the women and girls in the 
hareem ; my fair skin, my slight stature, and especially 
my hair, which, although no finer than any Norman 


BERTHOLDE J S REMINISCENCES. 


183 


girl, peasant or noble, can boast, seemed to them a 
wonderful mass of glossy beauty. Later, when I had 
gained more power from causes yet to be enumerated, I 
made use of this admiration in Greta’s behalf, saying — 
which was perfectly true — that before I left home I had 
never arranged my own hair, and that only a maiden 
from my own land could do it properly. Thereupon I 
suggested Greta- for the office of hairdresser, and with a 
little persuasion got her admitted to my companionship 
and my room, and from this time we were never parted 
till death came to unloose her bonds and take her 
directly to the Christ who had made her free. But this 
was not until several years after I entered the hareem. 

My first friends were the children. From Zarema, 
the emir’s eldest daughter, but a few years younger than 
myself, down to the babies whose mother-nurses were 
glad to be relieved for a time of their weight, all 
became fond of “the French girl with the long hair,” 
a sobriquet which, having been given soon after my 
entrance, clung to me long after its origin was forgotten. 
Together we roamed through the beautiful gardens, 
gathering the choicest flowers and fruit, which some- 
times, when we were not watched, we flung over the wall 
to the weary slave-gang below. For mere occupation I 
taught the younger ones the games and plays of the 
French children as I remembered to have seen Antoine 
and Nannette playing them on the green at Rouen. It 
was amusing to hear the Oriental accent with which 
they repeated the little French refrains. When weary 
or when the hot sun made shade and rest imperative, I 
would gather the children about me and tell them stories 
of the manners and customs of our land, so unlike their 


184 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


own, and, with the universal Oriental love for story- 
hearing, the cry Would ever be, “ More ! more !” 

“Knowest thou not some wonderful tale of love, 
magic or glamourie” asked Zarema, one evening — 
“some tale such as that with which the story-teller 
amuses my mother at night?” 

The holy hush of sunset was over earth and sea. 
Zarema’s pure young face was turned upward to mine, 
and I thought of a wonderful story of power beyond 
magic and of love beyond conception that Zarema had 
never heard. Should I tell it to her now? In the heart 
of this heathen family it might be death to me, but on 
the other hand it might be life — eternal life — to her and 
to some of my other little listeners. And was not I a 
crusader ? Should I shrink from the cross, whatever it 
might bring upon me? So in that still twilight-hour I 
told the story — how the little Baby came to Bethlehem, 
how choirs of angels announced his birth, how simple 
shepherds knelt before him and wise men poured out 
their offerings at his feet, how he grew into a child, a 
youth, a man, treading the plains and the valleys of 
Palestine with sinless feet, and performing cures and 
miracles such as no physician or magician had ever 
even thought of. But when I came to his betrayal, his 
trial, his sufferings and death, Zarema’s eyes were dewy, 
and my own voice trembled so that I could hardly 
proceed. 

“ Say no more,” said she ; “ the story, though won- 
derful, is too sad.” 

“ Nay ; thou hast not yet heard the most wonderful 
part,” said I ; and I finished with the particulars of the 
first Easter morning and the assertion, “ He still lives.” 


BERTHOLEE’S REMINISCENCES. 


185 


“ Who lives ?” said Zarema. “ I thought thou wert 
recounting a legend of thy people.” 

But when I made her understand that Jesus was 
really the Son of God who took our nature and died to 
save us from sin and death, and all for love, an entire 
change came over her : 

“Thousayest he lives? Where, then, is he, that I 
may go to him and adore this wonderful Being ? But 
I forgot ; he is in thy country over the sea, and I can 
never get there.” 

“ Nay, dearest, he is here, and, though we cannot see 
him, we can speak to him and tell him our love, and he 
will hear, and see the love in our hearts, and clasp us 
in his arms, and guard and guide us in all difficulties 
and dangers till we go to the home where we shall see 
him as he is.” 

“ Then I will speak to him ; and I do love him, and 
I will trust him to take care of me.” 

“ But, Zarema, this is the giaour religion, which all 
your people hate.” 

“Ah ! that is because they do not know anything about 
it. Tell them the story as you have told it to me, and 
they cannot help loving Jesus.” 

And so my first convert was won for Christ. Shall I 
ever forget the joy of that hour? I was a real crusader 
at last, fighting the battles of the cross and winning its 
victories. What matter was it if I were exiled from 
home and parted from Antoine? What matter if my 
whole future life were to be spent in slavery ? Did not 
the Son of God come down, an exile from his glorious 
country, and give up his precious life a ransom for the 
souls of a race of slaves? Was not this one soul more 


186 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


precious in his sight than the whole material universe ? 
Would it not please him to have me, though at such an 
immeasurable distance, thus following in his steps? An- 
toine, too — would not he rejoice to see his Bertholde 
thus valiant for the cross? Perchance even now Antoine 
was doing the same work, and preaching the everlasting 
gospel to many listening ears among the infidels. 

“ Tell them the story as you have told it to me ” ! 
The words lingered in my memory, and I resolved that 
henceforward, as God gave me the opportunity, I would 
be ever telling the story. Opportunities soon came. 
The children asked me again and again for the story of 
“ the man upon the cross.” They learned to speak the 
name of Jesus reverently, and in time I taught them 
such little simple prayers as are repeated by children in 
Christian homes, and read to them such stories from the 
precious book which Pere Ignatius had given me as I 
found them able to understand. 

At first the prattle of the little ones about these new 
and strange things, added to Zarema’s steadfast determi- 
nation to be a Christian, excited the opposition of the 
women of the hareem. Bitter words fell upon us both, 
but especially upon me, as the teacher of the hated faith. 
Taunts which it was hard to bear patiently were borne 
by the grace of God, and on our knees Zarema and I 
sought in my little chamber that comfort and support 
which is never so sought in vain. We prayed earnestly 
that grace might be given to our persecutors, and that 
prayer was answered, for after a time the mother of the 
hareem, the emir’s chief wife, Chusa, asked me to tell 
her also this wonderful story of which the children 
talked so much. 


BERTHOLDE’S REMINISCENCES. 


187 


How well I remember that sacred hour ! It was a 
hot summer night, and, the awning above the court 
being withdrawn, the still stars looked down on us even 
as twelve centuries ago they had looked down on Beth- 
lehem. I sat on the curb of the marble basin surround- 
ing the' fountain, all the population of the hareem 
grouped before me in various attitudes more or less pict- 
uresque. Surely the Lord himself spoke through my 
words that night, and after that there was no more per- 
secution. One after another of those child-women sat 
at the feet of Jesus, coming to me, his young interpreter, 
with the docility of children, to learn the way of life. 
The quarrels and bickerings, disputings about the posses- 
sion of jewelry, rivalry as to personal advantages, and 
other disagreeable things which make up so large a 
portion of hareem-life, were hushed to rest; Christian 
hymns arose morning and evening, and among us love 
seemed “the fulfilling of the law.” 

I was greatly surprised that such a state of things 
was tolerated by the emir and his sons. There were 
slaves and eunuchs enough around us to carry the un- 
welcome tidings that the hated religion of Europe had 
found its way into the very heart of a noble family of 
Bujeieh, but neither the emir nor the Mohammedan 
priests in any way molested us. I learned afterward 
that on being advised to put a stop to what was going 
on in his hareem the emir laughed and said, 

“ The poor fools ! Let them amuse themselves as 
they will. Since they have no souls, what can it matter 
what religion they adopt as the recreation of their idle 
hours ? This story of the crucified felon is a good one 
for women to hang their faith upon, since its priests 


188 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


inculcate implicit submission and obedience to their 
lords and legitimate masters. As for the little French 
girl, she is worth her weight in gold to me ; let not a 
hair of her head be injured, and give her her own way 
in all things, provided she do not seek to escape.” 

Those were comparatively happy days — or, rather, 
years — which glided quietly by as Zarema grew into a 
tall, graceful young girl, clinging closely to me, I in 
turn gradually changing from the light-hearted Ber- 
tholde of De-Tourville days to the staid, thoughtful 
young woman who writes these lines. I linger upon 
those quiet years, and I will chronicle yet more of their 
peaceful annals ere I speak of that fearful change whose 
hideous shadows darken all my sunshine, and from 
whose horrors only the strong right arm of my God can 
extricate me. Nevertheless, I rest confidingly upon 
that arm, and in the presence of greater dangers than 
have ever yet threatened me am “ kept in perfect 
peace.” 


CHAPTER IV. 


DAY-DAWN. 


“ The gloomiest day hath gleams of light, 

The darkest wave hath white foam near it, 

And twinkles through the cloudiest night 
Some solitary star to cheer it.” 

HEN Greta first came to live with me in the 



* " hareem such a change had come over her that I 
am sure her own brother Bernhard would never have 
recognized his strong, bold, merry little sister in the 
worn, haggard, gaunt and ragged figure which scarcely 
preserved the semblance of an Europeau. Greta never 
was a beauty, but even her German fairness was now 
gone, changed by three or four years’ exposure to sun, 
wind and rain into a bronze almost as dark as that of 
her Moorish companions. She had grown much taller 
than when we left Marseilles, but insufficient food and 
labor beyond her strength had worked together to pro- 
duce a stooping, emaciated frame which one would 
scarcely suppose to have belonged to a maiden not yet 
fifteen. Her clothing was of the coarsest material and 
was so worn as to be in absolute tatters ; her hands were 
hard and horny, while her shoulders were marked with 
many a furrow — painful mementoes of the overseer’s 
lash. 

On being bathed, perfumed and attired like the other 


189 


190 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


slaves of the hareera she bore a little more resemblance 
to a civilized being, but, though clothed, she was yet far 
from being in her right mind, and I soon found that the 
internal change was greater than the external. All her 
faculties seemed benumbed ; she showed no signs of 
interest or pleasure at the change which had come to 
her, save only that of being once more with me. In 
vain I endeavored to interest her in her beautiful home, 
in the sweet little children who inhabited it, in memo- 
ries of those old days when we too were little children 
wandering together over the plains and valleys of beau- 
tiful France. In vain I questioned her and tried to 
draw from her some account of how her days of slavery 
had been passed. She gave only monosyllabic answers 
when she spoke at all, and sat the greater part of her 
time in moody silence, with the air of a dog who cow- 
ers from the blow which he every moment expects to 
receive. Such, I suppose, is the legitimate influence of 
slavery. 

Months went on in this way, and I was beginning to 
despair of ever drawing Greta from her lethargy, when 
one evening I read my evening chapter from the holy 
book to the inhabitants of the hareem, seated, as usual, 
upon the curb of the fountain, the women and the chil- 
dren grouped around me. The children then sang with 
me two or three hymns which I had taught them, and 
we all joined in the sweet words which our Saviour has 
taught us to say to “our Father.” Greta had never 
before happened to be with us upon these occasions ; she 
either had dropped asleep or had remained seated on the 
marble steps of the dining-hall, gazing with expression- 
less eyes upon the garden and the prospect beyond. To- 


BERTHOLDE’S REMINISCENCES. 


191 


night, by chance — if there be such a thing as chance to 
those who know that our heavenly Father watches the 
fall of the sparrows and numbers even the multitudinous 
hairs of our heads — she was in the court, and a ray of 
interest appeared for a moment in her eyes as I read : 

“ ‘ Let not your heart be troubled ; ye believe in God, 
believe also in me. I go to prepare a place for you/ 
‘All things work together for good to them that love 
God/ ” 

I purposely sang the hymn of which Nannette had been 
so particularly fond, “ Jerusalem the golden,” and that 
other, “Jesus, the very thought of thee,” which we had 
sung with her that night when she, alone of all our party, 
saw Jerusalem, and again a look of remembrance, fol- 
lowed first by a puzzled expression and then by a look 
of despair, crossed Greta’s face. She startled me intense- 
ly after we had retired to our room by saying suddenly, 

“ Bertholde, dost thou believe there is any God ? I 
do not.” 

“ Why, Greta dearest, hast thou forgotten that we are 
crusaders — sworn champions of the holy cross? Thou 
surely wouldst not desert our standard here in the very 
presence of the enemy ?” 

“ ‘ Crusaders ’ ! Nay ; we are but slaves — slaves to 
those who believe their god gives them power that they 
may oppress us. I would not believe in their god, and 
I cannot believe in our God ; for if there be such a God 
as we were taught to worship, just, loving, how is it that 
we his servants, who have left our homes and come on 
this long journey to do him service, are deceived, be- 
trayed and sold into this dreadful place, where we are 
left to perish as though he had quite forgotten us ? A 


192 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


just being, were he only a man, would have rewarded, 
not punished, our sacrifices for his sake.” 

“ I did not leave home to do him service or simply 
for his sake, nor, if I remember aright, didst thou ; and 
this might be sufficient answer. Why we are thus left 
to suffer as thou, poor Greta, must have suffered, I know 
not, but one thing I do know : those words whicli I have 
been reading to-night are true, and all things do indeed 
work together for good to them that love God ; and his 
‘ many mansions ? are waiting to receive us when these 
few days of slavery and suffering are over. I feel no 
regret that his hand has brought me to Bujeieh, since 
he has here enabled me to tell the precious story of 
Jesus to so many.” 

“ Then the saints !” said Greta, apparently not heed- 
ing what I said. “ How I used to worship them ! T 
believed every story or legend that was told us about 
them, and I used to pray to them all to protect me ; and 
how have they done it? Till a year ago I wore that 
little reliquary containing the bones of Martha and 
Polycarp which the monks gave me at St. Victor. 
Many a time I prayed to it for deliverance from bondage 
and entreated it to be my defence against worse evils 
than thou k no west of, but it was deaf to all my prayers ; 
so I threw it away, and one of the slave-drivers spat 
upon it and said, ‘ Thus perish all vestiges of the false 
religion of Jesus the Son of Mary f I had not meant so 
much as that, but afterward they all tried to make me 
curse the Church and the cross, and to swear by the 
Prophet. The first I had no objection to, but the 
second I had resolved never to do ; for why should we, 
finding the religion of our own land fail us, profess to 


BEE THOL BE ’S REMINISCENCES. 


193 


believe in that of our oppressors, since in its name they 
perpetrate all their cruelties? Bertholde, you have no 
idea what those cruelties are. I believe in the hell the 
priests used to tell us of, for I have seen it night after 
night in that fearful den where the slaves sleep, and 
where thou didst pass some nights. I thought little of 
it while I was a child, but as I grew older I understood, 
and then I felt indeed forsaken of God and man, and 
resolved that if there was a God who could leave me to 
such a horrible fate, and saints who were so deaf to my 
cries for succor, I, at least, would never worship them 
more.” 

" Nay, Greta, behold how the Lord whom thou hast 
slighted and forgotten, whom thou wouldst now forsake, 
has watched over and loved thee still. He would not 
suffer thee to be tempted above what thou wert able to 
bear, but has with the temptation also provided a way 
of escape. He has delivered thee from the snare of 
the fowler; let us both praise him for his wonderful 
mercy.” 

But Greta would not kneel, and alone, but aloud, that 
she might hear me, I poured forth my thanks to our 
dear Lord who had been thus mindful of his covenant 
and proved himself in the very fires of temptation a 
shield and defence even to one who did not trust in him, 
and I prayed — oh how fervently ! — that her dimmed 
eyes might be opened to see the King in his exceeding 
beauty, and her poor wearied heart feel the sweet conso- 
lations of his tender love. 

Poor Greta was too much excited that night to listen 
to or take much comfort from what I could say, but the 
ice was broken and never quite froze up again, till by 
13 


194 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


very slow degrees it entirely thawed away under the 
warm rays of the Sun of righteousness. She would 
often talk with me now of the horrors of her slave- 
life, which quite equaled all we had pictured it when 
in France we used to shudder at the fate of those un- 
fortunates who were sold to the Algerine pirates. She 
seemed to have caught from those with whom she had 
so long associated two ideas which frustrated all my 
efforts to bring her strayed soul back to Christ. 

Poor Greta ! The same credulity which had enabled 
her to swallow every saint-legend or fairy-story which 
had ever been told to her, no matter how improbable, 
had enabled her to seize upon these two ideas as her 
only refuge in her present state of wretchedness and 
unbelief. In vain I endeavored to argue with her; all 
such attempts seemed like a besieging army’s efforts to 
charge against the face of a precipice, which only result 
in the discomfiture of those who make the attack. For 
answer she would make some such remark as this: 
“ What difference does it make ? Believe it, if it gives 
you pleasure. It is no sort of consequence what a 
woman who has no soul believes or, “ It is of no use. 
It was predestinated long ages before we were born that 
you should believe and that I should not ; we can but ful- 
fill our destiny.” I had not yet learned practically that 
it is not through well-chosen words of human wisdom 
that the healing, comforting gospel of Christ enters into 
a torn, bleeding heart, but I was forced from its very 
futility to give up arguing and try some other method. 

One day, tired of unprofitable discussions, I turned 
from Greta to the children, who, as usual, clamored for 
a story : 


BERTHOLDE’S REMINISCENCES. 


195 


" What about ?” 

“ About Jesus.” 

“ The story of the cross ?” said I. 

“ No ; we have heard that so often !” 

“Well,” said I, hardly conscious why I chose the 
subject, “after the Lord Jesus had been crucified by 
the wicked soldiers and had lain in the grave for three 
days, you know that he rose again — ” 

“And went to heaven,” interrupted one. 

“ Yes ; but before he went to heaven he let many peo- 
ple see him, so that they might be sure that he was still 
alive and had taken his body with him instead of leav- 
ing it in the ground, while only his spirit went to heaven, 
which is the way we are to go there. One night some of 
his friends were talking about him and telling one another 
of the various ways in which they had seen him since 
his resurrection, when one of them, named Thomas, said 
he did not believe that Jesus had risen at all ; it was not 
possible, he said, and nothing should make him believe 
an impossibility. Suddenly, although the door had not 
been opened, Jesus stood among them and said, ‘ Thomas, 
dost thou not know me ?’ But Thomas would not yet 
believe, so the Lord told him to reach out his hand 
and lay it in the wound which the Roman soldier’s spear 
had made in his side, and asked him to touch the nail- 
prints in his hands and his feet; and then Thomas 
doubted no longer, but immediately called Jesus his 
Lord and his God.” 

The children were full of questions, and I had so much 
to do in satisfying them as to how the Lord could enter 
by the closed door, how he looked after he had been 
dead, if he carries the nail-prints still, and questions of 


196 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


like import, that I quite forgot Greta’s presence. But 
the next morning she said, 

“ Bertholde, it is as thou saidest ; when we touch the 
Lord, we can doubt no longer. He, the risen Jesus, 
came to me last night when thou wast sleeping. He 
stood beside me in the stillness, and to me too he showed 
those precious wounds and told me they were all endured 
that he might save me ; and when I had laid my hands 
upon them, I felt that he was indeed ‘ my Lord and my 
God.’” 

I know not if Greta had indeed seen a vision of the 
Lord, but all things to her had become new, and why 
should not He who has promised to “ manifest 99 him- 
self to his children choose this way of bringing this 
wanderer back to himself? At any rate, I am sure it 
is true that the more we see of Jesus the easier it is to 
believe in him, and the closer we get to him the better 
we love him. 

It was very pleasant to be with Greta now. The 
dark cloud which had shadowed her seemed to have 
rolled away, and a fresh morning light gilded every 
object. She was as anxious as the children to hear 
more and more of the wonderful story of the cross, 
and I spent many happy hours in reading the ever- 
new things which were bound up in my book. I found 
that her ideas of religion had always been very crude 
and confused. Stories of kelpies and water-sprites 
overcome by relics and pictures, of demons exorcised, 
of dragons conquered, of saints telling their beads a 
little way up in the air and carrying their heads thirty 
paces to their places of burial ; of giants and dwarfs 
who peopled the forests, and who by the magic of holy 


BERTHOLDE 'S REMINISCENCES. 


197 


water were transformed again to their legitimate pro- 
portions ; of enchanters who held in their castles Chris- 
tian maidens in a state of trance until Christian 
knights, taking pity on them, wakened them by the 
sign of the cross and carried them on the backs of 
winged steeds over land and sea to other castles, where 
prevailed the Christian customs of slaying peaceful 
travelers and robbing them of their property where- 
with to build churches and endow abbeys, — these, with 
an unlimited faith in the power and infallibility of the 
Church, priests, monks, nuns, pictures aud relics, con- 
stituted the Christianity which Greta so easily had thrown 
away. What wonder it failed her when the pressure of 
a great calamity, the strain of great temptation, came to 
try of what sort it was? Would mine have been any 
better had I not come into the hands of good Pere 
Ignatius utterly untaught and learned from him to see 
‘‘Jesus only” ? 

Of Jesus, Greta seemed to have had little idea save as 
of a terrible judge, a great way off, and now he dawned 
upon her as the morning star — which he has chosen for 
his symbol — often dawns upon night-watchers who turn 
in their weariness to catch the first glory of its beams. 
The dross had been all burned away, the wood, hay and 
stubble demolished, when for a time the Christianity 
they had defaced and obscured had been given up, and 
now only the rock-foundation and the pure gold 
remained. Greta never took them up again, and so, 
when she began her new life, she knew only Jesus and 
him crucified. 


CHAPTER Y. 


PERFECT DAY. 

11 God from our eyes all tears hereafter wipes, 

And gives his children kisses then, not stripes.” 

Herrick. 

T HERE was much to enjoy in that hareem-life in 
Bujeieh, and, could I have forgotten that Antoine 
and I were parted for ever and that we all were slaves, 
I might have been perfectly happy during those years in 
which Greta and I were together. As we grew older 
we were allowed — closely veiled, of course — to make 
frequent excursions into the city and the surrounding 
country. Some of the ladies often accompanied us, and 
we were always under the protection of one or more 
of the eunuchs. Zarema especially delighted in going 
through the bazar and in making purchases of silks and 
other rich stuffs from the solemn-looking Mussulmans 
who sat cross-legged at the doors of their shops. 

It was an amusing sight, and even I enjoyed it 
exceedingly, as it called up many memories of la belle 
France ; and, besides, I had always a taste for such gai 
scenes. But, indeed, in France itself I had never seen 
anything half so beautiful. Gold and silver and pre- 
cious stones were here in an abundance which at home we 
never dreamed of, and rich fabrics of which I had never 
even heard the name, and articles of household comfort 

198 


BERTHOLDE’S REMINISCENCES. 


199 


and convenience whose uses I could only guess. The 
fruits, for abundance and variety, surpassed even those 
of the sunny gardens of Provence with which we had 
been so fascinated on our march toward Marseilles, and 
the confections — with a goodly store of which we always 
returned loaded — served to delight others than the 
children for whose pleasure they were ostensibly pur- 
chased. It was amusing, too, to watch the busy throng 
through the narrow openings in our veils, and to com- 
ment one to another, upon our return home, on the 
various faces we had seen. 

Much pleasanter to me, however, were the long 
excursions into the country, or when all the inhabitants 
of the hareem, women and children, under the protection 
of a sufficient guard of eunuchs and slaves bearing pavil- 
ions, cushions, water-coolers and provisions, were carried 
in light flat-boats to an exquisite little island owned by 
the emir which lay at the entrance to the bay. We 
always set out just before sunrise that we might enjoy 
the roseate light as it was flung across the surface of 
the waters, and the cool breezes from the dewy shore. 
Throughout the day we sat and with a fascination which 
never wore out watched wave after wave as it rolled in 
from the ocean, curled its crested head before us, and 
then burst in ten thousand fragments of foam at our 
feet. Or we gathered the delicate and gayly-tinted 
shells of the African coast, occasionally freighting a 
pearly nautilus-boat with fruit and flowers and sending 
it on a purposeless voyage toward some unknown port, 
often, however, to be swamped before our eyes and go 
to the bottom, freight and all, as I remembered to have 
seen the two ships with their precious human load 


200 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


perish before our eyes at the Hermit’s Rock. We 
fancied all this was to amuse the children, but were we 
not all children still, Zarema, Greta and I ? I some- 
times think I shall always be a child in keen apprecia- 
tion of things that surround me and in the power of 
drawing happiness from the most trivial of passing 
events. The last seven years of my life would have 
sobered any one else, but at twenty I am a child still; 
and I am not sorry that it is so, for is it not of a child- 
like disposition that our Saviour has said, “ Of such is 
the kingdom of heaven ”? 

We usually returned from these excursions at sun- 
down, when the purple and golden shadows lay where 
the roseate hues had been before, but on several occa- 
sions we remained at the island for two or three days at 
a time, and then the glory of the night far exceeded the 
beauty of the day. One by one the great solemn stars 
came out and looked down upon us; then the moon rose 
slowly from the bosom of the ocean, which at once be- 
came one dancing flood of liquid silver. We did not 
care to sail toy-boats then, but we sat and talked quietly 
of our past lives and of the future before us. Often 
Greta and I spoke of the moonlight on the height of 
Fourvieres the night before Nannette died, and endeav- 
ored to imagine what she was doing now. Then Greta 
would wonder if Bernhard ever reached his home in 
safety, and if he were grown into the chivalrous knight 
of whom they both used to talk in the old days at Ho- 
henseck, so many years ago. 

I had sadder thoughts, however; mine were always 
about Antoine. In my dreams I pictured him to my- 
self in a thousand different situations, now cowering 


BERTIIOLDE’S REMINISCENCES. 


201 


before the lash of a slave-driver, now free and winning 
his way through legions of enemies to the Holy City 
and the holy sepulchre. Now he w T as tossed on a tem- 
pestuous ocean, now perishing of thirst on some lonely 
desert. Sometimes I would fancy him as a tall young 
knight coining to rescue me and carry me ofl* in a ship 
whose oars were crystal and whose sails were gold, and 
again as a bright, strong angel holding Nannette by the 
hand and calling, while waving his beautiful wings, 

“Come on, Bertholde! We are waiting for you that 
together we may enter into the joy of our Lord.” 

But I could not speak of these thoughts and dreams, 
so we generally passed to that which greatly interested 
Zarema — descriptions of the New Jerusalem as it is to 
come down out of heaven, till we could almost fancy 
that up among the stars we saw its golden streets and 
pearl gates and heard the harpings of its harpers and 
the strains wherein they sing, 

“ Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive power, 
and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honor, and 
glory, and blessing ! Blessing, and honor, and glory, 
and power, be unto Him that sitteth upon the throne 
and unto the Lamb for ever and ever !” 

Such converse never made us sad; we were in that 
dreamy state halfway between childhood and woman- 
hood when hope will flourish in the most adverse cir- 
cumstances, and we had all learned to trust the Lord 
and to feel sure that only good could come to us and 
our loved ones while under his care. Moreover, heaven 
seemed so very near on those bright summer nights that 
we felt as if a very short space either in time or in dis- 
tance lay between us and our expected reunion there. 


202 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


A still pleasanter occupation of Greta’s and mine — 
the permission for which I gained as the result of much 
solicitation — was visiting the poor who herd together in 
dense masses in the lower parts of the city which border 
on the bay. After nightfall, closely veiled, we would car- 
ry them food and clothing, minister to their bodily needs, 
and then speak to them of that provision which God 
has made to supply the wants of that spiritual nature 
which is eternal. We found ready listeners among the 
sufferers here, for the Mohammedans, while holding 
almsgiving to be a duty meriting great reward in heaven, 
so utterly neglect their poor spiritually that in many 
instances we planted the gospel in soil where there were 
absolutely no seeds of a false religion to uproot. Souls 
that were hungering and thirsting for they knew not 
what fed eagerly upon the bread and water of life, 
though presented by our weak hands. The liberty where- 
with Christ makes his people free was gladly seized 
upon by those in slavery and degradation, even though 
offered by a slave. A heavenly Friend seemed a pre- 
cious boon to the totally friendless, and a home was joy- 
fully secured by those who had not where to lay their 
heads. 

How sweet it was to hear the name of Jesus from 
lips which had known only how to curse — to see the 
light of holy love come into eyes where only fierce fires 
of hatred had burned ! How glorious to feel that our 
words and our efforts had helped to raise a song of joy 
among the angels over many a sinner who repented, and 
to add another throb of joy to the wounded heart of 
our suffering Lord — to be co-workers with Jesus ! Often 
did I feel that we were then best fulfilling our crusading 


BERTHOLDE'S REMINISCENCES. 


203 


vow, and that there was no room for regret that we had 
joined the children’s army. Of course we were always 
accompanied by a guard upon these occasions, and our 
exit from the castle was conducted with great secrecy. 

Thus glided on several years, and then the reaping- 
angel, who had only been waiting for the shock of grain 
fully to ripen, took Greta to heaven. Her sickness was 
short, but during its continuance she manifested so much 
gentleness and patience that every one in the hareem 
mourned for her loss. All was done for her that the 
skill of Moorish physicians — so far exceeding that of 
our own leechcraft — could suggest, but in vain. Her 
constitution was so thoroughly impaired by the hard- 
ships and the exposure of those first years of slavery 
that it had no power to rally from the slight attack of 
fever which now prostrated her. 

“ I am dying, Bertholde,” she said one day. “ I 
would that P§re Ignatius or some other priest were 
here to receive my confession !” 

“And why, dearest? Is not Jesus, our great High 
Priest, here ? Doth not he give to all who truly seek 
it remission of their sins?” 

“ Yes, yes !” she murmured ; “ the Church’s words 
would have sounded pleasantly again, but Jesus is 
enough — enough !” 

At another time she said, 

“ Don’t mourn for me ; I shall be free. I feel sad to 
think of leaving thee, dearest, I love thee so, but I have 
learned to love Jesus better, and I long to see him, to 
touch him, to be folded in his arms. Thinkest thou it 
will make any difference to him that Greta is plain and 
sickly and a slave? But if it did, I should long to see 


204 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


him just the same. I shall tell him how sorry I am that 
I ever doubted him — ever denied the holy faith ; but he 
knows it was only because I did not then know of his 
love. Love is the light which makes everything plain.” 

And so Greta died, quietly, with her head upon my 
arm, murmuring, 

“ Love, Bertholde ! Jesus !” 

She was not buried with the slaves, but, as the chief 
of the great mosque gave permission, her body was laid 
to rest just outside the corner of the great burying- 
ground, where the dark cypresses are not so close and 
heavy and where the sun can sometimes look in and 
warm her grave ; and, though no stone or cross marks 
her resting-place, the Lord has it upon the tablets of 
his memory, even as all our names are graven upon his 
hands; and when, upon the resurrection morning, he 
calls his own to come forth, Greta will rise before all 
that crowd of turbaned heads, and so be “ever with 
the Lord.” 


CHAPTER VI. 
IMPENETRABLE DARKNESS. 

“No one is tempted so but may o’ercome 
If he but have a will to masterdom.” 

Herrick. 

1 HAVE spoken of the influence which I exercised in 
the hareern, and which I was able to use for Greta’s 
benefit ; but I have not heretofore alluded to that which 
has been my constantly-endured cause of secret inqui- 
etude and peril. Not even to Greta did I reveal this 
secret cause of unhappiness ; she had enough to bear, 
and it drew me closer to Jesus to know that I carried 
one burden which he only might help me to bear. 
Even now, when the snare is so closely drawn around 
me that I see no possible way of escape, it is still sweet 
to stand still and know that he is God, and that he will 
open a way through the sea of difficulty and danger, 
even as in childish days we little crusaders expected him 
to do with the Mediterranean, that I may walk through 
dryshod. 

I had reason to know T at the time that the emir’s pur- 
pose in removing me from the gang of working slaves 
and having me delicately brought up in his hareem was 
that I might at some future time be sold to the prince 
of Bujeieh for an enormous price. As time went on I 
sometimes wondered that I heard no more of this threat- 


205 


206 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


ened change in my destiny, and thanked God that — for 
the present, at least — I was preserved from so dreadful 
a fate. When I was between sixteen and seventeen, I 
learned the reason. The emir and his son accompanied 
us at that time on one of our excursions to the island. 
They often did this, and were by no means strangers to 
me. They were frequent visitors at the hareem, where 
they were generally received in the dining-hall, which 
opened upon the garden, the women all sitting round on 
divans at their master’s feet. Alfreddin, indeed, often 
penetrated into the inner court, where he enjoyed many 
a game of play with Zarema and his little brothers and 
sisters. But I had taken slight notice of him except to 
observe that he was handsome after the manner of the 
Moors, with swarthy skin, piercing black eyes and hair 
whose glossy jet had only recently been covered with 
the manly turban. His costume was gay and rich in 
the extreme, and the golden hilt of his curved sabre 
somehow reminded me of the jeweled crucifix which I 
so proudly wore when I left Tourville. I noted these 
particulars as he sat beside me on the island-beach by 
moonlight pouring forth in his own tongue a mingled 
torrent of poetry, rhapsody and romance to which I 
listened for some time before I discovered that it was 
addressed to me. 

“ Bose of the Northern gardens,” he was saying when 
I awoke to this fact, “ nightingale of the primeval 
forests, gem of the sparkling ocean, come and twine 
around the bowers of my retreat, fill my courts with 
melody, shine in my halls with a lustre far surpassing 
the sunlight, while softer than the beams of the silvery 
moon. Sweet dove, come and make thy nest in my 


BERTHOLDE’S REMINISCENCES 1 


207 


heart, that life may be for us in the future but the 
fulfillment of a lover’s dream.” 

When I succeeded in stopping the flow of words, I 
learned that he really intended to propose my eloping 
with him then in a shallop which lay moored at our 
feet. He had loved me, he said, since he first saw me 
walking with Zarema at sunset in the garden, and he 
had been engaged for a long time in fitting up a little 
paradise whose beauty might tempt an houri to descend 
from heaven. On various pretexts he had prevailed 
upon his father to delay my sale, and, now that his 
plans were matured, I must go. I was beginning to 
represent that, being his father’s slave, he had no right 
so to dispose of me, nor had I a right to dispose of 
myself, when the sudden appearance of the emir for 
the present put a stop to the conversation. But it was 
renewed on every available occasion, and, if possible, in 
even more fulsome terms than those just described. 

One day Alfreddin said, 

“ Bertholde, I might demand thee of my father, 
telling him that I gladly resign the gold thy sale would 
add to mine inheritance for the sake of now possessing 
thy beautiful self, and he would listen to me, for I am 
his first-born, his best-loved. Where then would be 
the coy airs of defiance and repulse which I acknowl- 
edge only render thee the more fascinating?” 

“ Should such an hour ever come,” I made answer, 
“I trust in the God of mine own people to save 
Bertholde de Tourville by sudden death should there be 
no other way.” 

“ That queenly air well becomes thee,” said my adorer, 
“ and know that the reason why I do not so demand 


208 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


thee of my father is that I seek do unwilling victim. 
I will yet make thee love me, and the day will come 
when thou wilt say, ‘Alfreddin, sun of my life, take me 
to that pavilion which thou hast provided, that I may 
bask and expand in thy rays/ ” 

“ Never !” I said, firmly. “ Knowest thou not that I 
am a maiden high born as thyself? Knowest thou not 
that my religion forbids that which thou wouldst counsel? 
Knowest thou not that a noble daughter of Christian 
France can never bring reproach upon an honorable name 
or wed with an infidel ?” 

He scarcely seemed to heed me, quietly remarking, 
“We will see.” 

But from that time forward scarcely a day passed 
without some token reaching me of Alfreddin’s remem- 
brance and love. White osier baskets of golden and 
purple clusters were sent me in the vintage season, 
fairer flowers than France has ever known bloomed ever 
in my chamber, jewels fit for an empress adorned my 
toilet, words of love floated in serenades beneath the 
terrace where I stood at night. My will was law in the 
hareem, where obsequious slaves and eunuchs waited to 
do my slightest behest. At intervals my young master 
would present himself and urge his suit with the same 
honeyed phrases as before, and in reply to my vehe- 
mently-repeated refusal would answer, 

“We will see.” 

It was one evening a few months after Greta’s death. 
I was very lonely, for a short time before Zarema had 
been sent away to a home of her own, where she had 
become the wife of a rich Moslem, and was, they told 
me, very happy. I trust, poor child ! that she will ever 


BERTHOLDE’S REMINISCENCES. 


209 


remain steadfast in her new faith, as she had solemnly- 
promised me she would do in her new home. I was not 
allowed to visit the poor people by the shore now that 
Greta was no longer there to go with me. . I rather 
fancied that this prohibition was the result of a private 
order of Alfreddin’s, and resented it accordingly. On 
this evening the ladies of the family had gone, closely 
veiled, to visit Zarema in her new home, and I, pleading a 
slight indisposition, refused to accompany them, but went 
instead — such privilege is always freely accorded to the 
Mohammedan women — to weep at Greta’s grave. The 
young slave who was my usual attendant withdrew to a 
respectful distance, and then memories of the past, with 
thoughts of my present lonely condition, friendless in 
the midst of the great heathen city, completely overcame 
me. Tender suggestions of what Antoine would have 
been to me had he been enabled to fulfill his promise, 
sad speculations about his probable fate and thick- 
coming memories of him and all my early friends, so 
crowded upon me that, a most unusual thing for me, I 
wept. 

“ Tears of shining liquid pearl,” said a voice beside 
me, “each one precious enough to be the central jewel 
of a monarch’s crown ! Would that I might flatter 
myself they fell for me !” 

The consciousness that they fell chiefly for Antoine 
perhaps nerved me for the scene that was to follow. 
Alfreddin — for it was he — continued : 

“ Ah, cruel houri, thou hast caused me to shed many 
tears, but we have both done with tears now, for thou 
hast conquered ; thou art cunning as the serpent, while 
lustrous and shining as he. I am resolved to have thee, 


210 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


and to have thee come to me willingly. I have deter- 
mined to make thee my wife — thee, my father’s slave. 
Dost thou hear the good news? Come to my arms, 
fair one, and let us rejoice together at the good fortune 
which has come to thee.” 

For one moment I hesitated and wondered if the 
fortune might not indeed be good. I thought of all the 
advantages which my lover was now glowingly descant- 
ing upon — instead of a helpless slave to be a prince’s 
bride, surrounded by all the luxury which Oriental 
wealth could heap upon me, a reigning queen in a realm 
of women, perhaps a centre of influence from which 
should radiate such knowledge of the cross as had 
already penetrated into my present home. The latter 
thought, added to the longing for love which so pos- 
sessed me, caused me to hesitate a few moments here, 
and a picture of my lonely life — growing old and dying 
in that strange land, never heard of at home, never 
hearing of any of those among whom my early life was 
passed — completed the temptation. But it was only for 
a moment. A vision of Antoine came to me, and with 
it the certainty that I could never love any one but him ; 
and could a Christian maiden wed without love and yet 
be blameless? Close following this came the higher 
thought of plighted faith to the Saviour who had given 
up his life for me. Could this be maintained as bride 
of an infidel, in most intimate union with an unbeliever? 
I knew it could not, and the thought of his own prohi- 
bition of such unequal marriages given by the mouth 
of an apostle was sent, as I believe, by the ever-blessed 
Spirit of truth to strengthen the resolution with which 
I answered : 


BERTHOLDE’S REMINISCENCES. 


211 


“ No, noble Alfreddin ; it may not be. Christian and 
Moslem are no fit mates ; even thine own nation would 
tell thee so, and such marriages are totally forbidden by 
our most holy faith. Besides ” — and I felt the blush 
mantle to my cheek as I said it — “ I love one of mine 
own land.” 

“ Thou didst love such a one,” said he, contemptuous- 
ly, “ in the days of thy childhood, long ago, but he has 
since been swallowed by the raging waves or sold into 
hopeless slavery. For the rest, we will soon make a 
good Mussulman of thee, and then thy chief objection 
will vanish away like the early mists from yonder moun- 
tain-side.” 

I was about to enter another protest, but was stopped 
by the usual “We will see,” and Alfreddin glided away. 
I fancy he met with some opposition from his father 
when he proposed to him his unprecedented scheme, for 
I received no further solicitations from him for many 
months, and was beginning to think my last repulse 
had been accepted as final, when an event occurred 
which changed the whole current of our lives. 

During these months the emir’s sudden death' had 
thrown our whole establishment into confusion. Shrieks 
and lamentations resounded through the house, and his 
body was buried with great pomp beneath the dark 
cypresses, a turbaned head of pure white marble mark- 
ing his resting-place. I do not think the family grieved 
much for the loss of the emir, but the days of mourning 
which the customs and religion prescribe were observed 
faithfully, with all the expensive ceremonies appertain- 
ing thereto, and then Alfreddin entered into his inherit- 
ance with great rejoicings. The hareem was remodeled. 


212 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS . 


and it was whispered that the widowed wife of the old 
emir held her precedence there only until the young 
emir should have chosen his favorite to supersede 
her. 

The great fast of the month Ramazan followed these 
occurrences, during which pleasure of all kinds is ban- 
ished from Mohammedan households, but after this 
comes the three days’ festival of Bairan, which is to be 
spent this year upon the island to which I have often 
alluded. To the summer residence at this spot it is 
known that the mother will retire when her son brings 
his bride to take her place, and many of our girls think 
it quite possible that he may choose this joyous festival 
as his opportunity for doing so. 

The preparations for the celebration have been more 
than usually extensive ; the light-hearted children, and 
the women w T ho are scarcely more than children, are full 
of joyous anticipations, but to me the days have been 
long and tedious. I have been oppressed by such a 
weight as I have never known before. All that I have 
lost and suffered has crowded again and again upon my 
memory, and with it the depressing consciousness of my 
utterly lonely and friendless position, added to an un- 
easy expectation of something about to happen which 
may entirely revolutionize my life. In vain have I 
tried to return to my usual state of calm trust in the 
providential care of my loving Lord God, and to the 
certainty that I can never be really alone or friendless, 
since his promise is, “ Lo, I am with you alway.” My 
restlessness has been quite beyond my own control, and 
therefore, in order to withdraw my thoughts from the 
present, even if they must be centred upon myself, I 


BERTHOLDE’S REMINISCENCES. 


213 


have occupied myself in writing this sketch of my seven 
years’ life in Bujeieh. 

The month of Ramazan is over. To-morrow, at 
dawn, we set out for the island, and, not knowing what 
fate may await me there, I gaze — it may be for the last 
time — through the delicate marble lacework of the 
portico of the home which has sheltered me so long, 
across the beautiful bay of Bujeieh to the sparkling 
ocean beyond. Fair and still sleeps the white city in 
the hazy afternoon light; it makes my heart ache to 
know that so much beauty is the abode of so much sin. 
Afar off I see the white sails of a vessel clearly defined 
against the sky. — O friendly white wings, come ye from 
the fair land of France ? Bear ye swiftly across the sea 
some child-heart as hopeful and light as mine was when 
I too sailed over the ocean to find — slavery? Pitying 
white wings, sweep down upon Bujeieh in your flight 
and bear away Bertholde to that unknown land where 
her Antoine still awaits her coming. — Ah, faithless 
heart ! are there not ever white wings around thee? Do 
not God’s holy angels bear thee up, even as they bore 
thy Master, lest at any time thou dash thy foot against 
a stone ? And when his time — the best time — is come, 
will they not in a moment catch thee away to the heav- 
enly country where thou shalt meet thine Antoine and, 
what is far better, be ever with thy Lord? 

First day of the feast ! The young emir’s purpose is 
declared : he has chosen me with whom to supplant his 
mother. He intends to place me upon the throne of his 
hareem ! 

I was seated on a stone at the water-side this evening, 


214 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS . 


watching the reflection of the fireworks and illuminated 
lanterns on the dancing waves, when suddenly Alfred- 
din stood beside me. On his face was a look of decision 
which I have never seen there before, and without 
any of the usual Oriental flowers of speech he began : 

“Bertholde, I love thee — love thee madly. Five 
long years have I waited for thee; I will wait no 
longer. I will have thee for my bride, and that to- 
morrow night.” 

“ But thou hast told me again and again,” said I, with 
what calmness I could assume, “ that thou wouldst not 
have me unwillingly, and I am not willing, nor evei 
will be, to become the bride of a Moor.” 

“ Pshaw, little ladybird !” said he, relapsing into 
something of his usual manner. “ Come to the nest 
which has so long waited for thee; come and reward 
the faithful heart which has so yearned to enshrine thee 
in its innermost recesses. Come !” 

“ My lord and master,” said I, u for so fortune — or, 
rather, the permission of God — hath made thee, I appre- 
ciate thy fidelity and gratefully respect the honor which 
has prevented thee from taking advantage of my unfor- 
tunate position and caused thee to sue for what by the law 
of the strong hand thou mightst have taken ; but thou 
hast had my answer, and things are still as they were 
when we stood at Greta’s grave.” 

“ Thou art yet remembering that peasant-boy ? Nay, 
but he is long ago dead, and from the heaven where he 
dwelleth among the houris desireth thee no longer to 
delay, but to enter the earthly heaven of love. Thou 
hast but to swear by Allah and the Prophet that thou 
wilt come to me to-morrow night, and such a life of joy as 


BERTHOLDE’S REMINISCENCES. 


215 


thou hast never dreamed of stands open for thee to 
enter in.” 

“ Nay, tempter !” exclaimed I, hurriedly ; “ never 
will I swear by the false Prophet. I never will forsake 
my most holy religion.” 

“ Thou never wilt? Then I will do for thee that of 
which thou hast never dreamed : I will forswear mine. 
What is the cold, glittering crescent to me, since rosy 
love draws me toward the cross ? Nay, answer not ; I 
know what thou wouldst say. I know discovery would 
be death, but I mean not to be discovered; and if I 
were, how gladly would I die for thee ! Thou shalt 
teach me, little saint, from that wonderful book of thine 
— for aught I know, as good as our Koran ; thou shalt 
pray for me to the Crucified, and I will learn to pray 
too. Then, as our heaven in this world will be one, so 
will it be in the world to come, and I shall never be 
parted from thee.” 

I essayed to speak, but he laid his finger gently on my 
lips, saying, 

“ No ; the good news is too sudden for thee. Take 
the night in which to collect thy scattered senses ; I can 
wait till the morning, when I will meet thee here, thy 
face radiant with smiles and thy red lips parting enough 
to say, ‘ The ladybird is won. ? ” 

He is gone, and I am alone. Not alone — not alone ! 
— O God my strength, be near me in this trying hour ! 
What shall I do? Is this a call from thee? Does the 
path of the crusade lie across this dreary waste ? Must 
I become the unloving bride of the infidel that he and 
his race may be won to thee ? Thou hast ere this 
demanded fearful sacrifices of thy children : dost thou 


216 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


demand this of me ? — Antoine, Antoine ! living or dead 
the only bridegroom of my heart, can I be called to do 
that which will make it sin to think of thee? 

The hour of meeting has come and gone — the beauti- 
ful morning hour which brought sunshine to the rejoi- 
cing world, but darkness and desolation to me. 

Through the long sleepless night I thought over 
Alfreddin’s strange proposition, praying ever for light 
aud guidance, till at length I began to see all things in 
their true proportions, and to feel that this is but a snare 
of the evil one to entrap me into an unholy alliance with 
the enemies of the cross. For what is worth the desire 
to become a Christian which was excited by the love 
of a woman rather than by adoration of Him who by 
suffering and death gave an exposition of such love as 
no weak human heart can conceive of? Then, too, am 
I not pledged to Antoine? and, though that pledge was 
but the promise of a child, is it not equally binding 
with the vow which makes me still a soldier of the 
cross ? 

And yet Alfreddin, infidel as he is, loves me with a 
true, constant, manly and honorable love, and pity for 
him so tinged the decided refusal with which I met him 
this morning that it was some time before I could make 
him understand it as such. When he did, a dark, angry 
flush overspread his handsome face; such fury as is 
possible only to those whose religion gives unbridled 
sway to vindictive passions and holds revenge as a 
virtue meriting heaven, gleamed from his eye. 

“ Bertholde,” said he, in suppressed tones which almost 
resembled a hiss, “ I have humbled myself at thy feet as 


BERTHOLDE’S REMINISCENCES. 


217 


never in the past did free man and Moorish prince hum- 
ble himself before a woman and a slave. Thou hast 
despised my love and my sacrifice, but I am not yet van- 
quished. I am resolved that thou shall come to my arms 
of thine own free will, and that this very night. Now 
listen to -thy fate. To-night is the night of predestina- 
tion, when the sultan yearly solaces himself with a new 
bride. Either before the hour of four this afternoon 
thou sendest word to yonder silken pavilion, ‘Bertholde 
will be thy bride to-night/ or I send thee bound to the 
seraglio. I swear it by the name of the Prophet, whom 
but now I would have renounced to please thee. And 
in this I do thee no wrong, since my father brought 
thee up for this very end.” 

“ And this is love !” I ventured to say ; but he was 
gone. 

O my God, I am in the depths ! Succor thou me. 
Which way shall I turn ? The wild waters close over 
my head ; I am in a land where darkness may be felt, 
and where there is no light. Pale Christ, hanging in 
thine agony upon thy bitter cross, I turn in this hour of 
mine extremity to thee. Like thee, I say, “ My God, 
my God, why hast thou forsaken me ?” No, no ! I am 
not forsaken. He hath said it — He whose words are 
eternal truth : “ I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.” 
“ Underneath are the everlasting arms,” even though I 
feel not their pressure. God can open a pathway of 
escape through the ocean or cleave it by the dagger of 
the assassin, or he can send his angel of deliverance on 
the black wings of the pestilence, or his fiat may in a 
moment say to this wildly-beating heart, “ Peace, be 
still !” He will never suffer shame or dishonor to come 


218 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


to those who put their trust in him. I do trust in him 
— in him alone. My heart throbs less fearfully and a 
holy calm creeps over my spirit while I write, as the 
deliberate voice of a soul that knows no other refuge, 
“ Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him.” 


BOOK V. 

ANTOINE’S DIARY. 














































CHAPTER I. 
ALEXANDRIA. 


“O Thou whose mighty patience holds 
The day and night alike in view, 


Thy will our dearest hopes enfolds : 
Oh, keep us steadfast, patient, true !” 


Longfellow. 


September. 



HHE sea is very beautiful, but what is beauty to a 


J- slave? Our voyage has been calm and pleasant; 
■we have passed many places of whose historic interest P£re 
Ignatius used to tell me in those far-off days at home. 
But what do I care for them now? Every hope is 
blasted, every aspiration is disappointed. Was it for 
this that I left home, deserted the mother who so looked 
up to me, brought my darling little Nannette to die 
along the wayside and led the bright, joyous Bertholde 
into exile, slavery and degradation? For this? Not 
for glory, not to plant the standard of the cross upon 
the battlements of the Holy City, not to open a way 
for pilgrims to pass in safety to the holy shrine, not to 
purify the Church from its corruptions by drawing 
down upon it the benedictions of a propitiated God, 
not to fall gloriously fighting against the infidel and 
springing from the battlefield direct to heaven, but to 
drag out a weary, useless life, a slave — and the slave of 
the Moslem ! 


221 


222 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


Ah, mother dearest, if I could but fall at thy feet and 
tell thee how I now see my willfulness and my selfish- 
ness, my desire to have my own way and my unwilling- 
ness to be guided by those older and wiser than myself ! 
if I could only once more kneel for thy forgiveness and 
sob myself to rest upon thy motherly breast ! But it 
may not be, and P&re Ignatius saith that I do wrong 
thus to grieve and condemn myself, for that, since we 
are here, God will take care of us, that some purpose 
will be accomplished through our sufferings, and, our 
motives in coming being sincere, if mistaken, our heav- 
enly Father, who is more tender and forgiving than even 
a mother, will whisper to us words of consolation and 
peace. It is a great comfort to us boys that P§re Igna- 
tius is still with us. I will try to feel as he says and 
be a brave, courageous boy once more, that I may be 
worthy of Bertholde when I go to claim her as my 
bride. For that I have promised to do, and God will 
surely open a way by which I can keep my word. 

September 28 . 

Our voyage of over fifteen hundred miles hath been 
long and tedious, but at last we are entering the harbor 
of Alexandria, sailing along the narrow strait which 
separates the ruined pharos from the mainland, having 
this morning at early dawn passed Cleopatra’s Needle 
and Pompey’s Pillar. The city of the great conqueror 
looketh not so stately from the water as P£re Iguatius 
led me to expect. It lieth low, and the houses, with 
rounded domes instead of the turrets and castellated bat- 
tlements of our nobles or the high-peaked roofs of our citi- 
zens’ houses, have an unfamiliar aspect. Ruins, however, 


ANTOINE’S DIARY. 


223 


are to be seen on every side, and show that Alexandria 
may once have been a city worthy of its fame. The peo- 
ple who throng the shores and watch the landing of our 
vessel are unlike any that I ever saw — dark faces of every 
hue contrasting with brilliantly-dyed robes ; strange mis- 
shapen dwarfs and giants, gesticulating and speaking in 
harsh, uncouth sounds, jostle one against the other and 
against the animals of all kinds which throng the narrow 
streets, till the whole scene is a perfect Babel. 

At any other time it would have been extremely ludi- 
crous, but now anxiety as to our future fate fills all 
hearts. How will it feel to be sold like chattels or 
like beasts? Who will be our purchasers? To what 
homes shall we be taken? What hardships shall we 
be called upon to endure? What friendships will be for 
ever broken ? Such questions repeat themselves till we 
are almost mad with suspense. 

Off Acre, October 5. 

The suspense is ended ; the separations have taken 
place. We have all been bought and sold. There are 
iron manacles on our hands and our feet, and they seem 
to me to fetter our souls. We spent three terrible days 
in Alexandria, chained together in gangs in the market- 
place and at night penned in a close shed like cattle. The 
market-place is a paved square with a fountain in the 
centre. It is surrounded on all sides by a colonnaded 
portico beneath whose cool shade is transacted all the 
business of the day. Here slave-purchasers walked and 
inspected us, calling from time to time to the drivers who 
had us in charge to bring nearer those who suited their 
fancy. But no one seemed to remember that we were 
exposed without shelter hour after hour to the burning 


224 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


rays of the tropical sun. The fountain plashed near us 
with cooling sound, but we could not reach a drop of its 
water, and it was not till night had closed in and the 
last purchaser had departed that we were driven to our 
place of temporary shelter — which, indeed, was rather a 
place of confinement — and some coarse food and warm 
water were given for our refreshment. Pdre Ignatius 
seemed to suffer greatly, but on my whispering a few 
words of sympathy he said, “ Think not of me, my boy ; 
remember, rather, His sufferings when he said, ‘ I thirst.’ 
‘ The servant is not greater than his Master nor the dis- 
ciple than his Lord.’ ” 

The purchasers who wanted us did not seem to be many. 
We were too young, too weak, too delicate, to suit the 
needs of those who desired assistance in farm-labor be- 
neath a tropical sky, and some of the children began to 
hope that we would be sent back to our own country, 
since we proved to be of no use as slaves. At length, 
however, Macshemuth, the governor of Alexandria, 
purchased a great many of our companions for the pur- 
pose, as he told our keeper, of tilling his lands and per- 
forming menial services about his stables and kitchens. 

“ The children cannot do much as yet,” said he, “ but 
they will every day become stronger, and meanwhile 
their price is not high and their keep will cost very 
little.” 

The governor was a savage, surly-looking man, and I 
rejoiced that no one dear to me passed into his keeping ; 
but the next day an officer richly dressed and followed 
by a gorgeous retinue rode into the square and demand- 
ed “ four hundred of the wisest clerks among the chil- 
dren of France, for the use and service of Malek Kamel, 


ANTOINE’S DIARY. 


225 


the sultan of Egypt. His master, he added, “was 
desirous of becoming acquainted with the literature, his- 
tory and language of Europe, and that his servants 
should be instructed in the same.” He therefore offered 
a high price for those among the captives who could 
both read and write. 

At once all the priests who had so long been our 
faithful comforters and spiritual guides were handed 
over into the custody of this officer, and the full tale 
of four hundred was made up from the most intelligent 
and aristocratic-looking of the boys. How fervently I 
prayed that I might not be parted from Pere Ignatius, 
but be chosen among the fortunate four hundred ! Alas! 
it was not so to be. Group after group were marched 
past me where I stood helpless in my bonds, till at 
length the dealers announced the numbers complete. 
Then, with a mighty effort, I tore myself away from the 
fastenings which restrained me, and flung myself at Pere 
Ignatius’s feet : 

“ Oh, take me too, dear father ! take me ! I cannot 
live apart from thee.” 

“My boy, my boy!” exclaimed he, in tones of agony; 
“ would to God I could die for thee ! Light of my 
eyes, all I have to love or to live for, what will life be 
to me apart from thee ? I thought God had called me 
to watch over thee ; I left my quiet home and broke 
my sacred vows, as I thought, to guard thee from the 
dangers and snares of the way, and now must I let 
thee go forth unguarded and alone ? It cannot be !” 

Then he made an earnest appeal to the dealers and to 
the officers either to include me in the purchases or to 
exchange him for some of the other captives. But in 

J 5 


226 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


vain ; all were inexorable, and the scene was cut short 
by a peremptory order on the part of the imperial 
officer that his gang should march away. Then, looking 
upward with an expression that had in it both agony 
and submission, the father fervently pressed me in his 
arms, saying, 

“ Antoine, the Lord’s sacred cross be thy support and 
thy shield. I charge thee so to live that we shall meet 
again in that glorious land of liberty wherein Christ 
shall make his people free. — Lord Jesus, not my will, 
but thine, be done.” 

“ My father, hast thou but one blessing ? Bless me 
— even me also — thou who hast taught me the way to 
that land of liberty,” suddenly exclaimed my cousin 
Richard. 

Pere Ignatius embraced both the boys ; then, extend- 
ing his hand in blessing above the remaining group 
of children, he 'said solemnly, 

“ Children of the Church, ever remember to sing the 
Lord’s song in a strange land. May he prove to you a 
tower of defence on the right hand and on the left, like 
unto a wall of fire surrounding his people !” 

After this a party of traveling merchants who had 
come from Bagdad in order to dispose of their silks, 
ivory, shawls, pearls, and other Eastern productions, 
took the rest of us — something more than a thousand — 
in exchange for their commodities, and so great is the 
value of these things in Europe that I doubt not those 
who so cruelly betrayed and deceived us realized a great 
fortune as the result of their perfidy. 

Without food, without rest, we were crowded into 
fiat-bottomed boats and floated along the Mediterranean. 


ANTOINE'S DIARY. 


227 


To -morrow we are to commence our long, toilsome 
march to Bagdad. How shall we ever endure that 
march without dear, good P£re Ignatius to comfort and 
to sustain us ? I never contemplated the possibility of 
being separated from him. It seems that I cannot have 
it so ; I cannot, like him, say, “ Thy will be done.” 

As I wrote these last words Cousin Richard came, 
and, looking over my shoulder, said, 

“ Forgive me for reading thy manuscript. I cannot 
make much out of it, but I think thou art grieving for 
dear Pere Ignatius. Cousin Antoine, thou art not yet 
quite alone. Robin and I are only bluff fellows not 
worth half so much as thou, but we are not the thought- 
less boys we were in Rouen ; such as we are, let us be 
all in all to one another. Then thou knowest we are 
on the very track of King Richard himself; mayhap 
the Lord hath some glory in store for us yet.” 

Brave, bluff Richard ! I fear I have not done thee 
justice. Yes, while I have thee, I have indeed left a 
fragment of home. How ennobling is this faithfulness 
to the memory of England’s Richard ! The conscious- 
ness that our Richard is following in the steps of his 
great hero has strengthened his heart to endure fatigue, 
face danger and bear disappointment as scarcely any 
others of our great army have done, and to-day he is 
ready to commence his long, wearisome journey across 
the desert with his sturdy English spirit still unruffled, 
simply because he is treading in his chosen leader’s 
steps. 

What a lesson for all to learn — all of us who are signed 
with the cross of the Crucified ! Oh to be sure that we 
are really following in our Leader’s steps ! Yet is it 


228 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


not so? Was not his way a Via Dolorosa? and if ours 
leads to sorrow and to death, what greater glory could 
we ask than to wear the thorny crown which graced his 
brow? 


CHAPTER II. 

ACROSS THE DESERT. 


Oh, wondrous dream ! Oh, vision passing fair ! 
Oh, holy, sacred spot ! The Lord was there. 
That was no baseless dream which faith believed; 
That vision was not false which hope received.” 


Karl Gerok. 


LONG, long weary way has been ours. Days 



have followed nights and nights have been merged 
into days; weeks — even months — have passed, till we 
have almost lost count of time, the same burning sky 
above our heads, the same hot sand and crisp, dry 
herbage beneath our feet, each day bearing us farther 
and farther from that holy city toward which we set 
forth with such exultant expectations. I have little 
memory of our route save a dull sense of misery as each 
morning, weary and unrefreshed, we were roused from 
our brief slumbers by drivers who chained us together 
in gangs and drove us steadily along on our path, never 
allowing a moment’s rest save for the regular noonday 
halt, when a coarse meal was given to us and the horses 
and the camels were allowed their customary hours of 
repose. 

During these pauses the weaker and younger ones 
among us would often give way to bitter wailings and 
heartrending lamentations over the hard fate which had 


229 


230 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


torn them from their homes, disappointed all their hopes 
and exposed them to such unexampled sorrow and 
suffering. Such pitiful scenes were ended only by the 
call of the drivers to resume the march, which, in order 
to take advantage of the coolness of the night, was often 
prolonged to such a late hour that our boys were glad to 
seek slumber the moment their weary limbs were 
released from the confinement of their chains. 

Upon these occasions the camel-drivers and the 
merchants often gathered at the doors of their black 
tents and listened to long revelations from wandering 
story-tellers who hung around the caravan, but of course 
the unfamiliar language rendered it impossible for us 
to understand what they said. One day was so like 
another that I have little to record in this diary, which 
I am resolved to keep, that if ever — no : when — I 
meet Bertholde I may be able to recall and tell her of 
all that has passed since our separation. 

But one afternoon and one evening stand out very 
clearly in my memory. We had been all day ascending 
a range of rocky hills, the sun pouring upon us with 
great fierceness and the stones cutting our feet at every 
step, when suddenly, soon after our noonday halt, those 
in advance of our long caravan shouted, “The Holy 
City ! ” and immediately prostrated themselves upon the 
earth. As soon as we also reached the crest of the hill 
I strained my eyes in the direction toward which the 
shouters pointed, and could barely discern, on the ex- 
treme southern verge of the horizon, domes and slender 
towers such as I have dreamed of as existing in the 
stories which years ago, in Rouen, our mother used to 
tell to Nannette and me. And this was all — the end of 


ANTOINE 'S DIARY. 


231 


all our dreams of glory, all our enthusiasm, all our self- 
devotion to the banners of the cross — to see a far-off 
vision of the walls of Zion and to weep in the dust that 
we might come no nearer nor strike one blow for its 
rescue from the infidel hands which held our chains ! 
We, its sworn defenders, must pass by on the other side 
and leave it still to be persistently ground into the dust 
beneath the heel of the oppressor. This was all — a 
momentary glimpse — and the harsh voices of our drivers 
urged us onward down the slope, and in a few moments 
the mocking vision was for ever shut out from our wist- 
ful sight. 

There was little sleep among the children that night ; 
the transient glimpse of the longed-for city had roused 
too many memories for that. Sketches of home-scenes 
fell from one and another; unheeded warnings rose 
sadly to repentant memories, and eyes were dim with 
tears as the recollection of reproachful and pleading 
faces came like accusing angels before these poor victims 
of remorse. 

Other feelings also were stirred. The magic name 
“ Jerusalem ” still had power to awaken that dormant 
crusading spirit which the sad and unexpected events of 
the last few weeks had done so much to crush. What 
should prevent us from rising in a body, shaking off our 
chains, killing our keepers if need be, and marching at 
once to the capture of the Holy City? There would 
be horses and camels at our command ; we might reach 
the city before morning, and Europe would ring with 
the prowess of the handful of children who had accom- 
plished that in which all the armed forces of Europe 
had failed. But no one seemed to have sufficient energy 


232 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


to take the lead in such a movement, and its discussion 
soon gave place to others. We were in the hands of the 
Lord : could he not work for us a greater miracle than the 
opening of the sea, which we had so vainly anticipated ? 
Had not he once sent his angel to destroy the camp of 
the Assyrians by night, and might we not also awake 
in the morning to find our tyrants cold in death ? Then 
we could march on to Jerusalem and, all unarmed as we 
were, compass its walls till our shouts should bring down 
the obedient fortifications, even as of old the walls of Jeri- 
cho fell flat before the Israelitish children. The exult- 
ingly jubilant spirit of Vendome seemed to have come 
back again ; smiles chased away habitual tears, and vis- 
ions of red-cross banners waving amid songs of triumph 
and paeans of victory once more filled the dreams and 
lightened the fetters of slavery. 

But, alas ! the morning showed no miracle. It was the 
hated voice of the slave-driver, not the expected shout 
of victory, which once more aroused our tired little pil- 
grims to commence a new day’s march away from, not 
toward, the goal of their hopes; no angel of life or 
of death had appeared for our deliverance ; we seemed 
forsaken of God, and from this day the complete hope- 
lessness of despair held us in firmer fetters than did 
the chains of the Moslems. 

That night I had a dream which came as an angel 
to strengthen me for all that in future I might be called 
upon to endure. I saw Nannette standing with a crown 
of stars upon her head, and having the same bright, 
earnest look which she used to wear while we waited 
at Vendome. 

“ Have patience, Antoine,” she said. “ The way to 


ANTOINE’S DIARY. 


233 


the Holy City is a long one, but thou wilt surely get 
there at the last. The shadow of the cross lieth all along 
its pathway, but it is a cool shadow, and many pale, 
sweet flowers bloom there which would wither away in 
the sunshine. The battlements and the towers of Zion 
are not such as thou hast pictured to thyself, and the 
warfare is far other than that of which we talked at 
Vendome. Thou wilt be called upon to fight with 
untried weapons, and, it may be, to bear harder blows 
than our crusaders ever dreamed of, but the victory is 
sure. And, Antoine, there is awaiting thee a crown of 
far greater brilliancy than mine, for I was called away 
before the battle, but thou wilt march through the golden 
gates with the triumphal procession of those who have 
fought and won. I could almost envy thee, Antoine, 
only that it is so blessed to be here. There are secrets 
which I could tell thee of the mansion which is prepar- 
ing for thee — for thee and for Bertholde — only I may 
not, and thou couldest not yet understand. Some time 
thou wilt come, and then the dark places where thou 
art now walking will all be bright and beautiful, for 
the sunlight of Zion, which makes plain, but does not 
scorch, will shine clearly upon them, and all their evil will 
be taken away by the Lamb which is the light thereof. 
It is only a little while, Antoine. I am watching and 
waiting for thee — for thee and for Bertholde.” 

I had never seen Nannette look so beautiful ; she was 
the same, and yet not the same. I think even her mother 
would have felt just as I did — that she was too sacred to 
touch. Her garments were shining with that light of 
which she had spoken, and far behind her I could see 
an upward path bordered by white wings and closing at 


234 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


the farther end in a golden glory of rosy light which 
my eyes could not penetrate, but which brought strongly 
to my mind the first sunset on the Mediterranean which 
Bertholde and I watched from the deck of the ship the 
evening after we left Marseilles. Bo vividly was this 
other glory recalled that I seemed to see Bertholde be- 
side Nannette, who gradually retreated up the avenue 
of light, leaving her behind. Bertholde was wondrously 
beautiful, but not at all like Nannette. I would uot 
have hesitated to clasp her in my arms and press her 
to my heart. 

“ Antoine/’ she said — “ my Antoine — I too am follow- 
ing the pathway of the cross which leads to the Holy City. 
It does not lie beside thine, but it leads to the same end. 
When we reach the gates of the city, we will wait the 
one for the other, that hand in hand we may enter there- 
in. Remember, wheresoever thou art, Bertholde is wait- 
ing for thee.” 

Our caravan halted one night just outside of Damas- 
cus, and the merchants went into the city, bringing out 
quantities of fruit, some of which even found its way to 
us poor slaves. How refreshing it seemed after the hard 
fare we so long had lived upon ! I thought of P£re 
Ignatius and the stories he used to tell me of Abraham, 
the Father of the Faithful, who took his steward from 
Damascus, an old city even then. It seemed very 
strange that after so many hundreds of years I, a wan- 
dering little French boy, should be in the same place. 
I suppose there are none of the same houses left in the 
city that were there in Abraham’s time, nor even of those 
that stood there when St. Paul was let down from the 
wall in a basket; but still it is the same city. Upon 


ANTOINE’S DIARY. 


235 


me looked down the same stars which had looked down 
upon all God’s children for many ages, and as I gazed 
up at them I felt that he could and would take just as 
good care of the French Antoine — so many thousands 
of miles away from his home — as he did of the old 
patriarch -when he called him to get away from his 
father’s house and his own country and wander in 
strange and desert places alone with him. 

One night we pitched our tents close to a heap of 
ruins which lay white and shining in the moonlight. 
There being no place to which we could escape, our 
chains were loosened, and we were allowed to wander 
among the ruins as we liked. There were great square 
blocks of marble overgrown with weeds and flowers, 
and beautiful long fluted columns lying upon their sides, 
while the multitudinous fragments scattered about in all 
directions spoke of violence rather than of gradual decay. 
I heard some of the men say, “ Palmyra and Tadmor.” 
How gladly I would learn the history of this beautiful 
city, standing alone upon the edge of the desert ! Once 
I would have asked Pere Ignatius all about it, but, alas ! 
I must learn to live without him now. 

Before reaching Palmyra we had crossed many moun- 
tains, and, although the way was very fatiguing, its 
variety made it somewhat interesting ; but after this it 
was all the same monotonous dead level, so that I re- 
member no particulars of the journey eastward till we 
crossed the Euphrates and then proceeded in a south- 
westerly direction to Bagdad. The villagers along our 
route between the two rivers pitied our sufferings and 
brought us milk and fruit. The women bound up our 
feet with rags and sweet ointments ; so that by the time we 


236 


THE FATE OF THE INN 0 CEE TS. 


reached the city we began to recover from the fatigues 
of our long and toilsome journey, and now we are 
ready to look about us, and to begin to learn what 
slavery really is. 




CHAPTER III. 

A SLAVE IN BAGDAD. 

“ Brother, pray be still ! 

The highest service is to meet His will; 

Watch thou in patience where thy lot may be, 

And soon or late his joy will come to thee.” 

December 1. 

TT is six months since I saw the mother and little 
Amalie. Does the mother think of me now ? Does 
she watch for her boy’s coming at nightfall? Does 
she think every morning that there will be tidings 
before night? I am glad that she cannot see what hath 
befallen us — glad that I alone am called upon to sulfer. 
God comfort her in her sorrow and be more to her than 
I could ever have been ! To-morrow we are to be car- 
ried to the great slave-market and again sold. Would 
that I knew what master is to become sole ruler over 
me ! 

December 2. 

It is all settled. The way of the cross seemeth to be 
indeed a long and a painful one, but it is a great com- 
fort to be sure that at the last it leadeth to the Holy 
City. My cousins and I have been separated ; even 
Richard and Robin have been bought by different mas- 
ters and are no longer together. We did not expect this, 
and it came upon us as a terrible blow. In our long 
‘ 237 


238 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCESTS. 


sufferings and our loneliness we have been drawn very 
closely together, and there is a quality of patient endur- 
ance and sturdy cheerfulness about both the boys that 
has greatly endeared them to me. Robin cried when he 
was taken from his brother, but Richard whispered, 
“ Don’t let the infidels see an English boy in tears,” and 
the little fellow manfully swallowed his grief, and with 
a steady voice, although it may be with a very full 
heart, said “ Good-bye.” 

December 10 . 

My master is a great agriculturist, and has many 
thousand slaves to till his lands. I am under charge 
of an overseer, who is to teach me the cultivation of 
rice. The work is hard, and I should think might 
prove unhealthy, working as we do up to our knees in 
water, beneath a burning sun ; but I try to be patient, 
and remember, as a crusader should, that “it is the 
will of God.” 

December 15 . 

Before this I have not seen much of Bagdad, but to- 
day I was sent with one of the overseers to the market- 
place that I might bring home a basket of fruit. I had 
no idea of such a splendid city — such large houses, such 
long streets, so many people ! Nothing that we saw in 
France can compare with it. And the bazar through 
which we passed ! More gold seemed to be displayed 
there than exists in all Europe, and the richest stuffs, 
silks and tissues — such as I thought only queens and 
princesses ever wore. My companions tell me that all 
the Eastern ladies wear just the same, and that even the 
cushions on which they sit are covered with silk, while 
the marble floors of their rooms are spread with gor- 


ANTOINE’S DIARY. 


239 


geous carpets which we saw for sale, instead of rushes 
such as we use in Rouen. Then the precious stones, the 
rubies and sapphires, the diamonds and pearls, all 
heaped together in such profusion as I never dreamed 
of! How beautiful would look my Bertholde dressed 
in some of the brilliant silks, with pearls and diamonds 
in her hair ! Somehow, I never picture Nannette 
adorned with jewels. Wings, feathers and white robes 
seem to belong to her, but arrayed in these gorgeous 
Eastern things my Bertholde would be a very queen. I 
saw some figures stop at the stalls and price these jew- 
els; I suppose they were ladies, but, being closely 
draped in long white veils, it was impossible to tell. 

Suddenly there was a movement among the vast 
throng who filled the market-place. Men fell back on 
both sides ; many cast themselves upon the ground and 
acclamations rent the air as there passed by, mounted 
upon splendidly-caparisoned horses, each led by a 
richly-dressed slave, a procession of grave-looking men 
with long white beards and high white turbans. 

“ Who are they ?” I asked of a companion ; for I 
have already picked up a little of the Turcoman lan- 
guage. 

u Knowest thou not, O Latin ? These be the princes 
of the Saracens, the sultans, who have been called here 
by the great caliph, commander of the Faithful, to 
concert measures for the final destruction of that pesti- 
lent religion of thine. It will not be long now ere the 
hated cross hath been humbled for ever before the trium- 
phant crescent.” 

How my blood boiled with indignation that I, a 
crusader, should have to stand tamely bv and hear such 


240 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


insults heaped upon the sacred banner I was sworn to 
defend. But what could I — a poor slave-boy — do, 
except silently endure? 

On our homeward way I was startled by the sudden 
sound of rushing footsteps, and by the tight clasp of 
a pair of warm arms around my neck. 

“Antoine, Antoine, save me ! ” exclaimed my cousin 
Bobin. “They have beaten me; they will beat me 
again. See there !” and he held up his poor little feet, 
all scarred with the marks of the whip. 

“ What did they do it for ?” said I. 

“Because I would not spit upon the cross, and I 
never will. They shall not force me to if they beat 
me to death.” 

* 

“ That is right, Bobin,” said I. “ Be a brave boy, 
and Jesus will take care of you. Never deny him.” 

But even as I spoke a swarthy Saracen tore away 
Bobin’s clinging arms and drove him onward with a 
. cruel whip, the sounds of the blows mingling with his 
cries. 

Poor little Bobin! He too must sutler. May his 
brave little heart hold out ! — It is along a very sorrow- 
ful path, O Lord, that thy little crusaders are to tread 
toward thy holy sepulchre. It seems too terrible, and 
yet, since thou hast had trial of scourgings, shall we not 
bear for thee something of what thou wast content to 
bear for us ? 

December 25 . 

The festival of Noel, which used so to gladden our 
hearts in dear old France ! What terrible things has it 
brought us here! Can I be yet alive to record the 
horrors of this day? Is there a God w r ho can sit 


ANTOINE'S DIARY. 


241 


calmly by and allow such horrors? Yes, there is; for 
did I not see to-day how he can comfort in sorrow, 
strengthen in suffering and turn a martyr’s death into a 
glorious translation ? Never will I doubt the loving- 
kindness of the Lord, but, since he is now my only 
friend, I- will cling to him, love him, serve him ; and if 
my own turn comes soon, what matters it whether he 
takes care of me here or I go to be with him there 
where so many whom I have loved have already gone? 

This morning I was again commanded to accompany 
the overseer to the market-place ; crossing which, we 
entered an arched portal guarded by soldiers dressed in 
long white garments, their waists bound by a crimson 
scarf and holding drawn scimitars in their hands. We 
passed through a long vaulted stone passage lined on 
both sides with armed men, and then were ushered into 
a scene of wonderful magnificence. At the upper end 
of a long hall splendidly draped with hangings of silk 
and gold, upon divans of crimson satin, reclined the 
same venerable body of princes whom I had before seen 
riding through the city. Slaves in gorgeous attire 
silently stood behind them, but their own robes were 
all of simple white. Above them, on a throne of ivory 
burnished with gold, sat the caliph, but he was so 
wrapped in rich draperies that I could scarcely distin- 
guish his features. Soldiers and officers of state stood 
all around the room, and the centre was filled by a 
mingled crowd of slave-drivers and children, some of 
the unfortunate companions of my journey, their white 
faces and fair hair being in startling contrast to the 
swarthy countenances of all around. Many of them I 
had not seen since the day of our sale, and was grieved 
16 


242 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


to note how haggard and wearied they looked, with a 
stupefied, almost brutalized air, as though they hardly 
cared what became of them. Both my cousins were 
among the number. 

We all waited in breathless silence, till a gayly- 
caparisoned officer stepped forth and demanded attention 
for the most noble and mighty prince Mostassem. One 
of the reverend white-robed figures then arose and in a 
loud and sonorous voice exclaimed, 

“Allah is great, and great is his holy Prophet! 
Cursed be all those that oppose themselves to him. 
The blood of the infidel is a sweet savor unto the 
Prophet, but sweeter his conversion to the true faith. — 
Young Europeans, ye have been ill taught in the land 
of your fathers to worship according to that pestilent 
superstition which is called Christianity. By the law 
of our most holy Prophet ye are worthy of death, but 
our brother-princes here have of their clemency decreed 
that in consideration of your extreme youth ye shall be 
saved alive and treated with kindness if ye will but 
renounce that evil religion and become good Mussulmans 
in very deed and truth. I command ye, therefore, to 
spit upon that unhallowed emblem the cross, and to 
swear by the name of Allah and his great prophet 
Mohammed of sacred memory.” 

The speaker paused for an answer, though looking as 
if he scarcely expected one, when a shout of indignation 
arose from all the boys, and the cry of “ Never !” rang 
through the hall. 

The prince’s brow darkened, but he said, 

“ Try, thou most benignant Abdulla, and see if thy 
gentleness may avail aught with these pert boys.” 


ANTOINE’S DIARY. 


243 


Another of the white-robed group then arose and said 
quite kindly, 

“ Nay, my children ; ye know not yet what we offer. 
Every one of you shall be freed from slavery ; we will 
distribute you among our nobles, to be brought up as 
their sons; luxury and ease shall be yours; ye shall be 
instructed in all the wisdom of our sages ; and when ye 
are fully grown ye shall fight the battles of the faith 
beneath the victorious banners of the caliph or fill po- 
sitions of influence and dignity about his royal court. 
Then, if you die, the angels will carry you to paradise, 
where the fairest houris are waiting to minister to all 
who fight bravely for their faith. Think what a future 
is before you, and for the good of your souls, as well as 
for that of your bodies, accept what we offer.” 

It was a temptation ! Must not freedom ever be such 
to a slave? But our Christian boys hesitated not a mo- 
ment. The cry of “ Never !” rang out again, and one 
voice said, “ Get thee behind me, Satan !” for which 
offence its owner received a blow of the driver’s whip. 

Then the darkest and the most terrible of the Sara- 
cens — Monbaddo — arose and with a voice of thunder 
exclaimed, 

“ Miscreant children, do ye dare thus to defy the great- 
est power this world has ever seen ? By the Prophet’s 
beard, we will not brook such insult! We are com- 
manded to convert the infidel at the point of the sword, 
and, by Allah, we will ! Insolent boys, choose ye now 
between instant death and conversion. The executioner 
is at hand, and we have but to give the word of com- 
mand.” 

A death-like stillness reigned over the assembly for a 


244 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


moment, and then arose my cousin Richard’s voice, clear 
and resolute as of old in Rouen : 

“Ye can but kill our bodies; the Lord Christ will 
take care of our souls. Who but a coward would deny 
his faith to save his pitiful life? Perchance thine own 
boys may be so dastardly, O prince, but thou knowest 
not the sons of England.” 

“ Seize the young malapert !” shouted a voice. “ His 
obstinacy will infect all the others.” 

“ Seize me an thou wilt,” answered Richard. “ Had 
I the arm of King Richard of the Lion Heart, thou 
wouldst not dare to massacre a band of unarmed chil- 
dren. Even now do thy minions turn pale at the very 
name of his battle-axe. But, although I have only a 
boy’s arm, I have an English man’s heart, and in the 
name of the Lord of hosts I defy thee and thine armies. 
Show me thy hateful crescent and I will spit upon it, 
even as ye would have us do with our holy symbol the 
cross.” 

“ To the bowstring with the boy !” shouted the en- 
raged prince. “ Make of him an example that shall 
tame the haughty spirits of the others and compel them 
to submit to our will. A great victory will be won for 
the faith if we can humble before it such resolute spirits 
as these.” 

At a word the executioner appeared, and, seizing the 
unresisting Richard, led him from the room. No sign 
of fear paled his cheek, no quiver of muscle or eyelid 
betrayed the slightest hesitation ; but as he passed where 
Robin stood near me he said, 

“ Be kind to my brother, Antoine, and remember that 
thou art a crusader. Never be such a coward as to deny 


ANTOINE’S DIARY. 


245 


the cross, though it lead thee to death — and to eternal 
glory .” 

I scarcely ever heard my silent cousin speak so many 
words at a time before, and have never seen such an 
expression on his face. It was thus, I suppose, that the 
martyrs' of old were strengthened to bear fire and water 
and the terrible trials along the track of which lay their 
pathway to immortality. And even as I thought of 
them a sudden and a smothered cry — whether of pain 
or of triumph we could not tell — admonished us inside 
that the execution was accomplished. A shiver of hor- 
ror ran through the assembly, but the oppressors soon 
found that they were mistaken in the effect which their 
barbarity was to have upon the other boys, for it only 
seemed to fire them with emulation to imitate this noble 
example of constancy. 

I have not the heart to relate more. In vain was 
every inducement that could be thought of offered us. 
We were told that if we would only profess a belief in 
the Koran we might live a life of unbridled sensual 
delight and sin here, and at death go directly to a 
heaven where every joy that sense could conceive of 
awaited us. 

“ But,” said one, “ it will not be Jerusalem. The Lord 
Jesus will not be there, for without holiness no man can 
see the Lord for which he also was sent to the bow- 
string. 

All promises of riches and honors, of freedom and 
ease, all threats of death, torment and hell, proving 
vain, the orders for execution became frequent, until 
eighteen of our number had been sent home to Jesus, the 
elder ones by the bowstring, the younger— among whom 


246 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


was our Robin — by drowning. Then one of the princes, 
who had not before spoken, said, 

“ Behold, nothing is gained. Instead of intimidating 
the others, we but fix them more firmly in their obsti- 
nate opposition to the true faith. Let us leave to time 
what all our arguments have so far failed to accomplish.” 
Then, in a lower tone, he added, “ I fear this day’s work 
will not win for us the favor of the great Saif Eddin, 
who ever counseleth leniency toward prisoners, that the 
infidel may not retaliate on those of the Faithful who 
fall into his power.” 

Upon this there was some altercation among the 
council, but the result was that those who remained were 
ordered out of the august presence, and our masters 
were admonished to see that as soon as possible we were 
instructed in the precepts and practices of “the most 
holy faith.” 

And this was my Christmas — alone in this vast city, 
with not one soul who ever knew me at home to speak 
to, no one to whom I can speak of mother, sister, home 
or heaven ! It is not a gladsome Christmas to me, and 
yet is there not a new band of angels among the choir 
that surrounds the throne to-night? And do they not 
all, notwithstanding the treatment they have received, 
join in that twelve-century-old choral of “Glory to God 
in the highest, peace on earth and good-will toward 
men”? — Brave, noble Richard! every anticipation with 
which we left home has been realized by thee. Thou 
hast fought the battles of the crusade and come oft* 
“more than conqueror.” Thou hast won the holy 
city, and found there a crown of righteousness laid up 
for thee. Would I were with thee! Yet they also 


ANTOINE'S DIARY. 


247 


conquer who suffer and are still. "It is the accom- 
plished will of God,” dear Pere Ignatius used to say, 
" which marks the shining pathway of victory, not the 
flashing of armor, not the clangor of martial music, 
not the waving of banners, not the overthrown warriors 
along the- way.” 

Lord Jesus, give to Antoine victory in the nobler 
warfare of saying all along his sad and lonely life-jour- 
ney, "Thy will be done!” 


CHAPTER IV. 

ALONG THE YEARS. 


“How shall we measure life? 

Not by the years, 
The months, the days, the moments, that we pass 
On earth” 


December, 1214. 

T WO years a slave ! Two years of thankless labor, 
of work beyond my strength, requited by ill-treat- 
ment and blows ! Two years of no companionship save 
that of brutal slaves and their infidel masters ! Two 
years of separation from all I ever knew and loved ! 
Yet during those two years I have never been alone. I 
have learned to understand the truth and the meaning 
of our Lord’s blessed words : “ Lo, I am with you 
alway.” He hath indeed been ever with me, and so 
these two years of slavery have not been all gloom. 

May, 1215. 

Sometimes, in going to or coming from the market- 
place, I meet some of my former companions of the cru- 
sade. All are changed in appearance, being dressed in 
Oriental garb and turban, much grown, sallow and 
browned with the sun. They do not appear strong and 
lusty as youths of their age should do, but are prema- 
turely bowed with toil, and a heavy, hopeless look, which 

248 


ANTOINE’S DIARY. 


249 


it is painful to see, has taken the place of the eager, joy- 
ous expression of boyhood. Brief space is allowed us 
for converse on these occasions, but, short as it is and 
infrequently as it occurs, it is very precious to hear, if 
but for a moment, the sweet sounds of the French 
tongue. - 1 always ask if our young crusaders continue 
firm in the faith, and am always answered “Yes.” So 
far as I know, not one of our boys has ever apostatized 
either for hope of gain or from fear of punishment. 

To-day I met a lad with whom I used to play in 
Rouen. He told me of the triumphant death of a 
brother whom hard work and unhealthful exposure had 
brought to the grave. 

“ He died,” said he, “ in perfect peace, urging me to 
continue to cling to Jesus, and to meet him in heaven. 
We neither of us cared for these things at home,” he 
continued. “ I was wont to laugh at the priests and to 
make faces at the images in the church, but here, 
surrounded by infidels, the faith is so precious, and it is 
such a blessed thought that the dear Saviour who died 
for us is watching over us and has promised, when our 
sufferings are ended, to take us to join him in his 
glorious city, that we could not choose but love him. I 
trust that the same is true of many of our thoughtless 
children, and that God hath brought us into this des- 
ert-place that we may learn to be alone with him.” 

July, 1215. 

Three years to-day since the child-army left Ven- 
ddme with flying banners and chanted hymns of antici- 
pated victory. Where is my childhood ? I seem to 
have left it behind in France — or, indeed, never to have 


250 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


had any. Suffering and solitude have long since made 
me a man. I have learned to think beneath the solemn 
midnight skies of the Orient, and I have there read 
answers to many questions which used to puzzle me in 
the days gone by. I have learned what Father Ignatius 
endeavored then to teach me — that the faith of Christians 
lieth not in solemn services and splendid rites, but in a 
loving heart bowed submissively to believe and do 
according to the will of its Lord ; and also what he only 
dindy groped after — that the Church, the body of 
Christ, is not the priesthood only, but the organic union 
of all the souls who are first united to Christ by faith. 
It seems to me that in Europe the many orders of 
priests, monks, mendicants, friars, canons, bishops, and 
by whatever other names the leaders may be called, have 
stolen the bread of life from the flocks over whom they 
have been appointed overseers, hidden the pure light of 
the gospel which they were commissioned to let shine, 
and substituted, or attempted to substitute, a system of 
superstitious observances borrowed from the heathen, 
and in some respects more idolatrous than those of the 
heathen themselves. I have learned that our Lord is 
not limited to them or to any set system, even of his 
own appointment ; else how have these ignorant children, 
captives amid infidels, been kept from apostasy and, 
without confession, without teaching, without the sacra- 
ments, lived holy lives and died triumphant deaths 
through trust in him? I have learned what it was 
worth all that I have suffered to learn — that Christian- 
ity is a loving, obedient trust in a crucified but living 
Christ who is never far away from any one of us, no 
matter how much we may wander from him. 


ANTOINE’S DIARY. 


251 


I sometimes think that the crusades of the future 
will be fought, not in Palestine against Saracen power, 
but in Europe, Christendom itself, against all forms of 
ecclesiastical tyranny, sweeping away all the corruptions 
of a degraded Church, abasing all that exalts itself 
against the gospel, and putting the precious word of 
God into the hands of every man, woman and child 
that each may learn for himself the one needed lesson 
of how to come to Jesus. It may be a boyish dream, 
but I have dreamed it under the Eastern sky where 
Enoch walked alone with God ; where Job worshiped 
him alone, though surrounded by idolaters ; where 
Abraham lived in blameless friendship with Deity ; 
where prophets and sages received their divine inspi- 
ration ; where the Lord of glory lived and died, alone 
spotless among sinners ; where the pure young Church 
sprang up among the effete remains of the gorgeous 
Jewish ceremonial ; and I believe it will yet come to 
pass. How glorious it would be to have some part in 
that crusade ! 

January, 1216 . 

There is a rumor among our Saracen masters of a 
new crusade which is being fitted out in Europe. It is 
said that Andrew, monarch of Hungary, the dukes of 
Austria and Bavaria and a multitude of German bish- 
ops and nobles have advanced as far as Spalatro, and the 
Moslems are in great commotion, sending forth troops 
to meet and conquer them. Again I have been offered 
my liberty on condition of adopting the religion of the 
army and marching in its ranks against the Christians. 
A refusal brought upon me renewed blows and harder 
work, but I thank God for the strength which enabled 


252 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


me to bear up. I cannot restrain the fluttering hope 
that somehow this armament is sent by the Lord for our 
deliverance, and my heart is almost breaking for a sight 
of the dear old home and the loved faces once more. It 
is hard to keep still and feel that we are perfectly 
powerless with such anticipations as these, but I can 
only trust the Lord ; and such trust ever bringeth 
peace. 

May 10. 

The Latin hosts — vaster than were ever known, they 
say — have sailed from Spalatro and Brundusium. — God 
of the ocean, protect them from the dangers which we 
encountered upon those deceitful waters, and bring their 
white-winged barks in safety to the haven where they 
would be ! 

May 25. 

The fleet has reached Ptolemais in safety. A great 
battle has been fought, in which the Saracens, not being 
prepared for so speedy an encounter, were routed with 
great slaughter. 

June 15. 

Accounts from the army of the cross are not so en- 
couraging ; the soldiers are said to be plundering Mos- 
lem and Christian indiscriminately and to be quarreling 
among themselves, and the people of Bagdad speak 
exultingly of the ruin this course will inevitably bring 
upon them. Also, the latest accounts state that they 
are weakening their forces and wasting their time by 
long pilgrimages, which the priests dictate, to sacred 
places, and, as they go totally unarmed, they are com- 
pletely in the power of the Saracens, who do not hesi- 
tate to fall upon and slay hundreds every day. Andrew 


ANTOINE'S DIARY. 


253 


himself has given up some sensible advantages in return 
for several valuable relics, the head of St. Peter and the 
right hand of St. Thomas among the number. The 
infidels laugh at our weakness when they speak of these 
things, and then their brows darken and they swear 
fearful oaths to exterminate all such idolatry from the 
earth. Are Christians, then, idolaters? It cannot be ! 
Yet how many of the things that used to puzzle me 
so at home point to this very sin ! — Lord God, purge 
thy Church and grant that every one whose brow wears 
thy holy signet may have deeply engraven upon his 
heart the motto of the Jewish Church : “ Hear, O 
Israel! The Lord thy God is one Lord.” 


July 28. 

The disorganized .European host has at length, 
through the joint-exertions of nobles and prelates, been 
once more united and harmonized, and is now encamped 
before the fort on Mount Thabor. The Saracen leaders 
are loud in admiration of so gallant a feat as scaling the 
almost inaccessible mountain in the face of their defences 
and outposts, and fear that, these obstacles overcome, the 
fort — one of their strongest defences in Palestine — must 
fall, and with it/ perhaps, Jerusalem itself. Not by the 
children, then, is the mighty deliverance to be wrought. 
We were deceived from the first. But, let our God 
send by whom he will, I, at least, will rejoice in his 
victory. 

August 30. 

All is lost. European courage has vanished with the 
blessing which God once poured upon European prow- 
ess when its purposes and its measures were pure. After 


254 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


remaining a full month encamped before Thabor the Latin 
leaders were seized with a panic lest, once within the for- 
tress, the possibility of retreat should be cut off by the 
Saracen army which was known to be advancing from the 
Tigris, and they abandoned their advantageous position 
without striking a blow. There have, in consequence, 
been a series of brilliant illuminations, festivities . and 
rejoicings of every kind in Bagdad, but what bitter dis- 
appointment and heart-sinkings have there been among 
our bands of Christian slaves ! Indeed, renewed bar- 
barities toward us are among the Mohammedan mani- 
festations of joy at this unexpected and bloodless vic- 
tory. 

November 1. 

Our hopes are all blighted ; the last chance of rescue 
is gone. The great army from which we expected so 
much has melted away. After the abandonment of Tha- 
bor a month or two months more were spent in pillage 
and pilgrimages, and then the kings of Hungary and 
Cypress turned their course toward Tripoli, where the 
monarch of Cypress died, and Andrew of Hungary 
sailed for home, taking with him his precious relics as 
compensation for his disappointed hopes. What have 
we in return for ours? Only this — the knowledge that 
“ the Lord reigneth,” and that the way to the Holy 
City, though the shadows of the cross fall lower and 
longer across it, surely leadeth to its gates at last. 

December, 1217. 

Another long year of slavery has passed ; no events 
mark its progress save the unvarying routine of daily 
toil and necessary repose. As I grow older and more 


ANTOINE’S DIARY. 


255 


mature in appearance my labor is increased, and the 
treatment which I receive from the slave-drivers and 
overseers becomes worse. At times I feel that I cannot 
longer endure it, for I am a man now, and the spirit of 
a free-born European will not brook the blows and the 
abuse so freely bestowed upon slaves. My only refuge 
is in prayer — prayer and the thought of what He suf- 
fered who endured such contradiction of sinners against 
himself. When I remember how they scourged him — 
and only then — can I submit to be scourged and not 
attempt to return the blow, to be reviled and, like him, 
revile not again. This memory, with one other, makes 
this crushed slave-life endurable. 

Glorious Bertholde ! How constantly I think of her 
sweet child-maidenhood ! She must have developed 
into a woman now whom all men might be proud to 
adore. Does she still think of Antoine? Would that 
I knew ! Dead ? No ; I am sure that cannot be. Did 
not our pitying Lord send me that vision wherein she 
promised to wait outside of the golden gates for me? 
He sendeth not such comforts only to mock and to 
betray. Hath my innocent dove forsworn the faith? 
I would answer for the constancy of Bertholde de Tour- 
ville sooner than for my own. I see her often, bright 
and flashing as a star, yet sweet and womanly too — 
fond as when she left her home and her exalted station 
to follow, not the crusade, but me, yet simply honest 
and real as when she bore uncomplainingly by my side 
the hardships of that toilsome march and faced un- 
shrinkingly the terrors of that tempestuous sea. For 
her sake I have endeavored, even in slavery, to ennoble 
myself. I have striven to remember and retain all that 


256 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


Pere Ignatius taught me in the seclusion of the old 
priory of St. Gervaise. I will, God helping me, be a 
man, and a man worthy of her. — For, Bertholde, I 
shall yet see thee again, I shall yet clasp thee to my 
heart, I shall yet fulfill to thee the promise of our ter- 
rible parting upon the deck of the slave-ship. But 
“how long, O Lord, how long?” 

March, 1218. 

The teeming multitudes of this great city press heav- 
ily upon my heart. So many human souls rushing heed- 
lessly to death, with no one to point them to the Lamb 
of God ! I wonder much that our Christian monarchs, 
with the great array of bishops and priests which have 
ever accompanied the crusading armies, have through all 
these years wasted so much blood and treasure upon 
attempts to capture the Holy City by force of arms, 
sending thereby hundreds of thousands of their fellow- 
men to instant perdition, when one-tenth of the amount, 
one hundredth part of the lives, might have won this 
great cultivated and civilized Saracen people for Christ 
and for heaven. It is true they are infidels, but are they 
not also men ? Did not the same God create them and 
us, the same Saviour die for both races ? Is there not 
room enough in his “ many mansions ” for every fol- 
lower of Islam and for every heathen upon the “ isles 
of the sea”? 

I have felt at times as though I must do something 
for the conversion of those amongst whom the provi- 
dence of the Lord had placed me, but what c^n I do ? 
The bare mention of the sacred name of Jesus has but 
drawn upon me the blows of the overseer, and the poor 
suffering slaves whom I have sought to comfort with 


ANTOINE’S DIARY. 


257 


promises of the better land were in too abject terror of 
their masters even to listen to my words. Nevertheless, 
I have sowed some good seed, and, the great Husband- 
man watching over it, it may yet bring forth unexpected 
fruit. 

17 


CHAPTER V. 


FREEDOM. 


“There have been men who hid themselves 
Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave 
Their lives to thought and prayer; 

And there have been holy men 

Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus.” 


The Arabian Desert, November, 1218. 


FREE man once more ! I look at my hands and my 



-TA. f ee t with incredulous delight to assure myself that 
they no longer bear the hated fetters. It is true. There 
are the indelible marks, but the iron is left in the land of 
servitude. Never again shall I hear the harsh voice of 
the overseer or feel the sting of the dreaded lash. Alone 
upon the desert-sands, I kneel before thee, O Christ the 
Liberator, praising thee for the liberty wherewith thou 
hast made thy servant free, and here pledging myself to 
consecrate entirely to thee the life thus rescued, that the 
crusading-vow of my ignorant childhood may be under- 
standingly fulfilled with the manly strength of my later 


years, 


For some time my position had been unendurable. 
The Saracens, whenever they met with repulses at the 
hands of the Christian armies, retaliated with fury upon 
the European prisoners and slaves who were unfortunate 
enough to fall into their hands. A new overseer was 


258 


ANTOINE’S DIARY. 


259 


appointed who treated us with unexampled cruelty, and 
at the same time a new slave was added to our gang, a 
boy of about twelve years whose flowing hair and fair 
complexion brought back many memories of my own 
European land. He told me that he was the child of 
those Latins who had lived in Palestine ever since the 
glorious days of Baldwin and the kingdom of Jerusalem ; 
that while his father was fighting in the ranks of the 
crusaders an armed band of Saracens had burned the 
village in which he lived, brutally massacred his mother, 
and carried him to Bagdad, where he was sold as a slave. 
There was something in his youth and forlorn condition 
which so reminded me of the hopeful young army that 
marched from sunny France into slavery and death that 
I felt very much drawn toward him, more especially as 
our overseer seemed to view him with particular dis- 
favor and never lost an opportunity of punishing and 
ill-treating him. It would have been worse than use- 
less to interfere, for the result of such a course would 
have been to draw down tenfold vengeance upon the 
helpless victim as well as condign punishment upon 
him who should be so bold as to do so. 

But one afternoon all the manhood that lingered in 
me after seven years of slavery was roused beyond 
control, and I knocked down the overseer while he was 
administering a shower of heavy blows upon the boy, 
who, faint from heat and exhaustion, had dropped 
powerless beside his work. Astonishment seemed for a 
moment to paralyze the faculties of the wretch, and then 
he turned on me, and, calling to two other slaves to 
hold me, commenced beating me with the full force of 
his mighty arm and powerful whip. A short time 


260 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


rendered me quite unconscious of my pain. I suppose 
I fainted and was left for dead. 

It may be that the furious villain, who was account- 
able to his master for the care wffiich he took of his slave- 
property, feared the consequences of his act and fled 
from the dreaded vengeance of his lord ; I never knew. 
When I first became conscious the cool darkness of 
night was around me, the stars looked down pityingly, 
and I found myself upon the dewy ground. I rose 
with difficulty and looked around ; I was sore and stiff 
with bruises and tired and sore at heart. It was a 
horrible awakening ; I wished that I might for ever 
have lain in that blessed trance. What was life worth, 
I scarcely twenty-one, with fifty or sixty years of this 
monotonous death in life to look forward to? I was 
forgotten at home; God had forgotten me; hope had 
died : wherefore should I live ? Close beside the field 
where I lay rushed the waters of the Tigris, the black 
river which had rocked my cousin Robin so peacefully to 
a martyr’s sleep; why should it not so rock me? God 
forgive me ! It was a terrible temptation, and, weak, 
bruised and despairing, I yielded. 

It was slow, weary work, but at last I dragged my- 
self to the low, muddy bank and rolled over into the 
river, but before the dark waters closed over my head I 
caught sight of the vast firmament of stars above me, 
and a verse learned long ago came to me like a strain of 
forgotten music: “For that He is strong in power not 
one faileth ;” and mingling with the heavenly strain 
came the earthly echo of Bertholde’s voice in the vision : 
“I will wait outside of the gate for thee.” Blessed 
love, divine and human ! once more a soul owed its 


ANTOINE’S DIARY. 


261 


salvation to thee. Life was of value, after all, and with 
what strength was left to me I swam till at last I reached 
and crawled painfully up the opposite bank. The day 
was beginning to dawn ; men would soon be astir. I 
had barely energy to reach a clump of bushes which 
grew not far from the river, hide myself among their 
luxuriant foliage and drop into a deep, dreamless slumber 
from which I did not wake for hours. 

It seems a miracle that I was not discovered that day ; 
for when I awoke, I heard all around me the voices of 
laborers, the cries of slaves and the snap of the driver’s 
whip. I could see from the covert where I lay gangs of 
slaves and teams of bullocks engaged in the varied 
occupations of irrigating and cultivating the soil. Lice 
— which is the chief product of these low lands border- 
ing on the river — needs an immense deal of moisture ; 
indeed, it grows chiefly under water. After the months 
of inundation, during which the whole country between 
the Euphrates and the Tigris is entirely overflowed, it is 
necessary to keep the fields constantly irrigated, and 
this is done by a kind of complicated machinery worked 
by bullocks, or in many cases by long trains of men 
and women, each carrying on the head or shoulders a 
goatskin filled with water. These carriers are usually 
slaves, as a free man or a free woman can rarely be in- 
duced to engage in such arduous and at the same time 
unhealthful labor. The multitudes of prisoners which 
the incessant wars of the Saracens supply meet this 
constant demand for slave-labor, and as fast as one gang 
is killed off by the malaria from the swampy land, 
aided by the effects of the burning tropical sun, another 
is ready to supply its place ; and so cheap is this human 


2(52 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


material that most planters prefer it to the system of 
irrigation by machinery. 

I lay quiet all that day ; indeed, I felt no inclination 
to move, and seemed living in a dreamy state in which 
past life, present situation and future possibilities were 
strangely blended. I was on the west side of the river 
now, with old Bagdad full in sight ; two of its three 
gates stood open all day, and I could see the yellowish- 
red color of the houses within. No windows faced the 
thoroughfares, but along the terraced roofs might be seen 
awnings beneath which were spread tables groaning 
under the weight of pomegranates, grapes, figs, olives 
and dates. Women enveloped in blue checked cloth, 
with veils of woven black horsehair, flitted about, 
apparently in attendance upon white-veiled, silk-robed 
forms who languished upon silken cushions, as if over- 
powered by the intense heat. It seems strange now that 
I could have noticed these particulars at a moment 
when my own fate hung so in the balance, but all my 
faculties seemed preternaturally sharpened, and this last 
view of Bagdad is indelibly impressed upon my memory. 
I could see the roof and the domes of the Serai, where 
the caliph and his household dwell embowered in the 
gardens for which Bagdad is so celebrated. I could see 
in the distance, outside the city walls, the octagonal 
tomb of Zobeide, wife of Haroun al-Raschid, with its 
cone-shaped dome of white marble, and many houses of 
the nobles which dot the surrounding country, as well 
as the black mud huts of the poorer classes, whose 
subterranean chambers afford the only refuge from the 
fierce beams of the noonday sun ; and from my leafy 
retreat I watched the boats which daily sail up the 


ANTOINE’S DIARY. 


263 


Tigris from Bassorah laden with the rich productions 
of the Persian looms. 

But gradually the consciousness of my own position 
became more vivid, and a great longing for freedom 
came over me. Might not this be God's opportunity 
for delivering me from the hands of the infidel and 
guiding me in safety to Christian lands and to Ber- 
tholde ? The longer I thought of it, the more was I 
resolved to make at least one effort, and I waited im- 
patiently for night that I might put this resolution into 
execution. Alas ! when, at length, darkness and silence 
told me that I was alone and I crept cautiously out of 
my retreat, I found myself, from bruises, faintness and 
exposure, scarcely able to stand. The cruel whip had 
been applied to the soles of my feet, which were now so 
swollen and painful that each step became intense agony. 
I had proceeded but a few rods when I realized that to 
continue my flight in this condition would be an impos- 
sibility, and that I must at least have food before I could 
go many steps farther. Close to me was a low hut of 
bamboo thatched with rushes, such as the hermits and 
dervishes of this country build for themselves in soli- 
tary places. A gray -headed woman stood at the door 
making strange signs in the air and muttering cabalistic 
words to herself. 

“ Come not nearer F she cried when she saw me. 
“Knowest thou not, O stranger, that I am Fate — an 
omen of evil to all who approach me?" 

“ Whatever thou art," I answered, “ I will trust thy 
womanly charity to save the perishing from starvation 
and to bind up the wounds of the suffering." 

Instantly her manner changed to one of homely friend- 


264 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


liness, and, taking me in her long arms, she bore me into 
the hut. In all these seven long years I have not felt 
motherly arms around me before, and, like the little 
Antoine, whom I remember years and years ago, whose 
mother’s bosom was his sure refuge in all troubles, I 
burst into a prolonged flood of weeping. 

The witch, enchantress — whatever she might be, to 
me she was only a ministering angel — fed, nursed and 
tended me through five weeks of fever and weakness 
when, but for her rare skill in leechcraft, I must have 
died. The mysterious nature of her occupation kept all 
prying eyes away from her cottage, and, having under- 
taken to shelter me, she faithfully fulfilled her word. 
As I grew stronger and the wounds on my feet healed 
I imparted to her something of my history, and she 
entered warmly into my plan of escape, laying before 
me, at the same time, the great dangers of the under- 
taking. One evening she brought me a black robe such 
as I had seen worn by the wandering Bedouins whom 
we had met on our way to Bagdad, and said, 

" Since my young eagle must needs seek his parent- 
nest and his kindred, since he longeth for the dove who 
is pining in some solitary cage, let him wear this. I had 
a son once, but the Saracen scimiters made him food for 
the vultures, and this was the dress in which he ever 
traveled. It will serve thee as a complete disguise, and 
perchance, enveloped in its folds, thou mayest reach the 
Latins in safety. But avoid the cities, and, shouldst 
thou meet with a caravan, pass thyself for a traveling 
conjurer and join thyself to its company.” 

She then darkened my face to resemble that of an 
Arab, and being by her presented with dried dates and 


ANTOINE’S DIARY. 


265 


hard bread sufficient for many days, and also with a set 
of conjuring-implements which she said would enable 
me to procure food wherever I found human beings, I 
left her, completely enveloped in the robe, which, being 
hooded, covers head, face and body alike. Blessed wo- 
man ! I know that she is not of our holy faith, but has 
not God in every nation those who love and serve him ? 
I cannot but hope that when I reach the long-wished- 
for heavenly Jerusalem I may see that she too has found 
an entrance through the blessed Saviour who taught his 
disciples that “ Love is the fulfilling of the law,” and 
“ Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of the least of these, 
ye did it unto me.” 

For three weeks I have now been making my way 
westward, skirting the great desert and visiting villages 
and encampments where a slight exhibition of my jug- 
gling-implements always has ensured me supper and 
rest. At other times, when far from any habitation, 
my supply of dates was all-sufficient, and I enjoyed as 
never before the solemn reality of being alone with God. 
I can in some measure realize now how grandly truth 
must have unfolded itself to the patriarchs of old be- 
neath these solemn Eastern skies when no jar of life’s 
wars or struggles came to interrupt their sacred commu- 
nion with the Unseen. And yet it was not to solitary 
contemplation, but to beneficent intercourse with suffering 
human life, that the “ man Christ Jesus ” devoted him- 
self when he trod the soil of this Eastern land, and his 
parting command was, “ Preach the gospel,” not “ Med- 
itate upon mysteries.” Surely the most acceptable follow- 
ing of him must be that of keeping his commandments. 
I could not be happy to spend a hermit’s life even in the 


266 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


immediate presence of holiest mysteries while countless 
millions of the souls for which he died have never even 
heard his name. 

I linger now along the borders of the vast desert, 
waiting for the passing of the caravan which yearly car- 
ries the riches of the Indian provinces to the great sea. It 
must come soon, and then — Be still, my heart ! That 
then lies hidden with God ; leave it there, and be at peace. 

Jerusalem, December, 1218. 

At last ! After so many years, so much wandering, 
so many sufferings, so much disappointment, I am here 
in the holy city of my Lord. I press the soil hallowed 
by his sacred feet; the sky which veiled itself with hor- 
ror at his sufferings bends calmly blue above me ; my 
tears drop into his open sepulchre. Thank God that it 
is indeed an open sepulchre, and that it is no dead 
Christ whom we worship, but a risen Saviour who ever 
liveth to make intercession for us ! I have learned that 
upon the desert, in the slave-gang, upon the ocean, amid 
trials and sufferings innumerable. Yes, though every 
feeling of my heart is stirred with emotion at the reali- 
zation that I am really in Jerusalem, God, the loving 
Saviour, is no nearer to me here than he has been at 
any time during the last seven years. And now I see 
how worse than vain has been the waste of life which 
for over a century has bid fair to depopulate Europe by 
sending her bravest and holiest children on pilgrimages 
and crusades. Poor deluded pilgrims who fancied that 
peace of conscience could be won by painful journeyings 
— that peace which the loving Lord is ever more than 
willing to bestow as the guerdon of simple trust in him ! 


ANTOINE’S DIARY. 


267 


Deluded warriors who dreamed that fleshly weapons 
wielded by excited passions could avail toward the estab- 
lishment of that spiritual kingdom which “ cometh not 
with observation ” ! Not with human gore is the new 
and living temple to be cemented ; its foundations were 
laid in the blood of the Crucified, and he alone can 
polish and chisel every stone and fit it to its appointed 
place. 

As my feet trod the pavements of that which they 
call the Via Dolorosa, the street along which our Sa- 
viour is said to have walked toward his crucifixion, 
mine eyes seemed opened to see that the cross which we 
assumed with our crusading-vows is not an outward one 
broidered upon our mantles, but an inward one wrought 
into the very texture of our hearts. Even thus Jesus 
bore it — not as an object of idolatrous worship, not as 
the decorated symbol of an advancing army, but as a 
[Roman slave might bear the despised instrument of tor- 
ture, a symbol of degradation and shame. I realized, 
also, as I crossed the many battlefields whereon the 
chivalry of Europe had so often won and lost the crown 
of Jerusalem, that the battles of the faith are to be 
fought, not with lance and spear, but with the sword of 
the Spirit, the living word of the Lord : not amid the 
clash of arms and shouts of victory, but in quietness 
and solitude, in dark and neglected corners, where no 
meed of victory awaits the struggling champion save 
only the still small voice which whispers, “ Well done, 
good and faithful servant, ” and proclaims us “more 
than conquerors through Him who loved us;” not 
against quivering human flesh and blood, the tenement 
of immortal spirits, but against the evil of our own 


268 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


hearts, against spiritual tyranny among the rulers, dark- 
ness and ignorance among the people. 

I am glad and thankful to have come to Jerusalem — 
glad to have followed the magi to Bethany and to have 
poured out my offering of praise at the feet of Him who 
came as an infant that he might open the gates of paradise 
to every little child. I am glad to have stood where once 
were the courts of the temple, and to have thought 
of him as just such a boy as were those of the hosts 
who left the sunny plains of Germany and France six 
years ago, bound for this very spot, listening to the 
teachers and asking them such questions as used to arise 
in my mind in those early days. It was pleasant to 
linger at Bethany, and to remember the daily converse 
of “ the man Christ Jesus” with his three chosen 
friends. It was solemn, and yet joyful, to stand with 
him in thought before the tribunal where even a heathen 
judge was forced to testify to his spotless purity, and so 
to realize that Jesus Christ, by living, loving, suffering 
and dying, identified himself with every relation of 
human life and sanctified them all. I have knelt in 
Gethsemane and remembered his agony of temptation ; 
I have stood upon Mount Olivet and entered into his 
prophetic sorrow over the misery which for twelve cen- 
turies has been poured out upon the Holy City, and now 
I sit alone by the great centre of the world’s quarrel, 
the empty sepulchre itself, with Calvary and its un- 
speakable associations as it were overshadowing me. 

It is strange that I cannot feel about it as others have 
felt, or as in my boyhood I thought I should feel when 
the goal of our wanderings was reached. “He is not 
here: he is risen” seems to float upon the air; but 


ANTOINE'S DIARY. 


269 


when I turn to look for the angel who first spoke the 
words, I cannot see him, and the supposed gardener 
says, not as of old to Mary, “ Weep not,” but “ Weep 
for the blindness of Christendom, which for so many 
centuries has wasted its strength in vain contentions and 
left a perishing world without the knowledge of that 
salvation which was here wrought out.” 

Christ did not die for Europeans only, but for Sara- 
cens, Africans — all who were included in his parting 
command, “ Preach the gospel to every creature ;” but 
we, instead of heeding these words, have been “ seeking 
the living among the dead,” and have not found it, a 
dead Church, a dead priesthood and dead forms and cer- 
emonies taking the place of the “ lively stones ” who once 
offered living worship to the risen, living Lord in upper 
chambers of this very city. And never will we arise 
from the dead till we learn that he is living yet — living to 
walk with us all along life’s pathway, to strengthen our 
hands and comfort our hearts amid the dangers and dif- 
ficulties of his service; to prepare the way before us 
when we carry forth the word of life, and to water it 
with the dews of his Spirit till the harvest is ripe for 
his garners, till all men everywhere shall have passed 
from death unto life and he shall reign without a rival 
not only on the rocky slopes of Zion, but in the living 
hearts of multitudes which no man can number. 

It is singular that to so many the holy sepulchre 
appears as the end of their pilgrimage. If they can 
once reach it, all things, they think, will be ended and 
the pilgrim have nothing left to do but to step right 
into heaven. I feel as if my lifework had but just 
begun. Here I consecrate myself anew to the crusades. 


270 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


It is from this starting-point that I shall go forth to 
proclaim the glorious gospel of Christ crucified and 
risen again to all who will listen, Christian or infidel, 
bond or free ; for am I not still and for ever a crusa- 
der ? And is not our battle-cry “ Deus vult 

But first I go to find Bertholde, for sure I am that 
somewhere on this broad earth the Lord hath her 
secretly folded in the shadow of his wings in safe-keep- 
ing for me. And she ? Will she follow me and be my 
helper in the great work to which I here devote my 
life? As I trust in the fulfillment of the promise of 
her early childhood, I believe she will, and that the 
abundant blessing of the Lord will crown with success 
the labors and the prayers of two hearts united the 
more closely to each other because each is firmly bound 
in chains of loving devotion to him. If not — O my 
pitying Saviour, spare me this sacrifice ! And yet by 
the agony thou hast endured on yonder hilltop thy grace 
will enable me to tear away all that comes between me 
and thee, and to cast it, as I now do my own will, at 
thy blessed feet, to lie, like thy useless graveclothes, at 
the bottom of thine empty sepulchre. 

From what fitter place could one go forth to tell the 
old yet ever-new story of the cross ? Here the world’s 
true history commenced ; all that went before was but 
four thousand years of preparation, during which it was 
wrapped in the thick darkness which precedes the dawn. 
Morning stars occasionally twinkled in the gloomy 
firmament, rays of prophetic light shot across the 
welkin ; but here the Sun of righteousness arose on the 
darkness — arose from death — and life and light and glory 
irradiate all things for evermore. 


CHRONICLE II. 


CONNECTING. 

rPHE summer of 1230 was a fearful one for France. 
J- For eighteen years such heat and drought had not 
been known. The grass burned upon the hillside, the 
famished cattle dropped dead in their stalls. Famine 
was succeeded by pestilence, and the wail of bereaved 
families went up over the land. It was whispered that 
the pestilence had been brought by returned crusaders 
from the East, and many malisons were uttered against 
those who, returning in the flush of victory, had 
entailed this terrible price of conquest upon their native 
land. Even the glorious news that at last, after sa 
much bloodshed, the long-desired end was accomplished 
and Jerusalem once more displayed Christian banners, 
seemed small compensation to those who mourned the 
departed sunshine of their homes. Normandy, always 
green and moist, suffered less than the more southerly 
provinces, but even here the heat and the drought were 
plainly perceptible when one August afternoon a bent 
old man tottered into Rouen and, stumbling wearily 
along the streets, groped his way as one familiar with 
the turnings to the old stone cross in the market-place, 
and then fell fainting at its foot. 

“Mon p£re, mon ptre !” shrieked a little girl who still 
held tight hold of his hand; "wilt thou die and leave 

271 


272 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


little Nannette alone among strangers — Nannette, who 
has no one but thee?” 

The child’s piercing cries attracted a crowd of those 
idlers who are always ready on a summer afternoon to 
gather at the least excitement, and comments passed 
quickly from one to another. 

“ The old man is a wizard. Let us stone him,” cried 
one. 

“ Nay, coward! Wouldst thou stone a child?” said 
another. 

“ ’Tis a fairy changeling or a brownie,” said the first 
speaker. “ Seest thou not the coal-black eyes and the 
dark skin ?” 

“ Nay,” said a sturdy man whose one arm and battered 
visage betokened him a warrior who had seen service 
beyond the sea; “ye know nothing, base citizens that 
ye are ! Have not I fought upon the burning plains of 
Palestine and watched the cursed pestilence carrying off 
its thousands at Damietta? I know the man by his 
dress : he is one of the holy palmers, and doubtless 
cometh from the crusade. The child, mayhap, is a 
Saracen babe whom he hath rescued from those who 
would &llow her no soul and shut her out from heaven.” 

“ A murrain on thee for a beggarly German follower 
of a robber-baron !” said another. “ What knowest 
thou of Saracen babes? The little one’s hair is as 
golden as are the locks of my own fair daughter — or, 
indeed, of the angel-sister who followed the boys to the 
crusade years agone. Heaven rest her soul and take 
vengeance on those who led her astray !” 

“The noble count Bernhard is no robber-baron, 
varlet. Did I but have thee at Hohenseck, I would 


CONNECTING. 


273 


teach thee better maimers in the black dungeon below 
the castle-keep. — That is,” he murmured to himself, 
“if the noble count allowed, which I much doubt.” 
Then, louder, “And what was thy bourgeois sister to 
the maid of Hohenseck, fair Greta von Bernhard, with 
her long flaxen hair and skin as white as milk, like 
all our German maidens? Yet she too sailed off, as I 
have been told, in the fatal ships, and was nevermore 
heard of.” 

The altercation might have become hotter and have 
ended, as usual, in an affray : the retainers of Count Bern- 
hard were no favorites with the citizens of Bouen, and 
brawls between the two parties were of no uncommon 
occurrence. But a diversion took place in a cry which 
suddenly arose from a woman on the outskirts of the 
crowd. She had vainly attempted to understand the 
matter in dispute, and caught at last some disjointed 
words. Pressing her baby excitedly to her breast, she 
shouted, “Palestine! Damietta! Crusaders! The pesti- 
lence!” then rushed frantically down the long, narrow 
street in the direction of the palace, and disappeared. 
The panic spread — the word “pestilence” sent terror 
to every breast — and soon the open market-place was 
cleared both of spectators and of those who had taken 
part in the brawl. 

The child, meanwhile; had not ceased to call the old 
man by every endearing name that she could think of, 
chafing his hands, stroking his brow and sobbing wildly 
with terror, till, overcome by her useless efforts to restore 
him to consciousness, she fell upon his neck in one de- 
spairing flood of weeping. 

At this moment a rather singular procession crossed 
18 


274 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


the farther end of the market-place. First came a fair- 
haired knight, rather below middle age, of noble and 
dignified bearing, and leaning upon his arm was a snowy- 
haired woman who might have passed for his mother had 
not a certain something in the mien of both proclaimed 
that originally they had sprung from different ranks in 
life. Nothing in the knight’s manner, however, betrayed 
his consciousness of this difference, for he was as defer- 
ential to her as though she had been the queen-dowager 
of the land. Behind walked a fair, sweet young matron 
whose ripe beauty was gilded and refined by the woman- 
ly and motherly virtues which shone like a coronal upon 
her brow, and who led by the hand a bright boy of five, 
while from time to time she smiled encouragement upon 
the baby who followed held high in his nurse’s arms. 

“ Mother,” said the younger lady, “ this pilgrimage is 
too much for thee. Another year Bernhard and I, with 
the little ones, must make it alone, and thou shalt join 
in our prayers in thine own quiet chamber, though, in 
sooth, it seemeth to me very idleness to pray for the safe 
return of those who have slept for so many years beneath 
the waters.” 

“Nay, my daughter; when I am assured that they 
are all dead, I shall indeed cease to pray for their bod- 
ies, but never for their souls, and I still cannot but hope 
that the Lord will vouchsafe his mercy by sending some 
answer to ray prayers before I die. Are not the prayers 
of our holy Church all-availing with him ? I have given 
to the good fathers of St. Gervaise much more money 
than thy father — poor man ! — would have allowed, to 
say masses for Nanuette, Antoine and the rest of the 
children, and I am sure God will hear them at thp last. 


CONNECTING. 


275 


Thou needst not go, Amalie, nor thy little ones; but 
every anniversary of the day, eighteen years ago, on 
which they sailed will I drag my old limbs to St. Ger- 
vaise and kneel in the ancient chapel where Pere Igna- 
tius blessed the children for the crusade.” 

“ Nay, mother,” said Bernhard, gently ; “ thou know- 
est that it is but a summer festival to Amalie and the 
babes and for me. Antoine was my best friend, my 
brother, and what good my prayers can do him, that 
he certainly shall not lack. Amalie but spoke because 
of thine increasing weakness and her dear love to thee. 
But see ! by yonder cross lieth one weaker than thou ;” 
and he sped swiftly across the market-place and raised 
the white head of the old man. 

The others followed more slowly, the mother leaning 
now upon Amalie’s arm. Just as she came up the long 
swoon was over; the heavy eyes unclosed, and as the 
delighted child shouted, “ Mon p&re is alive again ! He 
will not leave his Nannette,” a mutual look of recogni- 
tion flashed from one to the other, and the old lady said 
in an agony of delighted astonishment, 

“ It must be — it is — Pere Ignatius ! The dead are 
alive again, for by his side stands my lost Nannette.” 

“Take her,” said the old man, feebly; “she is all 
thine, thy very own — all that is left thee of the ill-fated 
Children’s Crusade. Guard her tenderly. My work is 
completed, since I have brought her to thee. I hoped 
to have told thee all, but it may not be, and God’s holy 
will be done! These parchments will tell thee much, 
and perhaps Nannette’s little memory will supply more. 
— Kiss me, little one.” 

Again the old man lost consciousness, and Bernhard, 


276 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


calling two of his stout men-at-arms, had him borne 
tenderly to the old house and laid carefully in the same 
bed where, eighteen years before, Nannette had seen her 
vision of Jerusalem. He was not dead, although at first 
they thought him so, but his whole being seemed pros- 
trated by exhaustion following upon some terrible shock ; 
and when sensation returned, consciousness did not re- 
turn with it. It was many weeks before he even knew 
those around him, and months after that before he could 
speak connectedly enough to tell his long story of those 
eighteen years. 

Meanwhile, the family who watched him so tenderly 
had read again and again the precious manuscripts which 
in that one moment of consciousness he had given them, 
and whose contents put beyond question the fate of the 
French children who in 1212 followed Stephen of Cloyes 
to the crusade. They contained Bertholde’s reminis- 
cences and Antoine’s diary, and thus those who loved 
them became acquainted with all the particulars of the 
children’s life during those first seven years. Many 
were the tears shed over the hapless fate of the two 
ships, the betrayal by the false merchants, the ill-treat- 
ment and death of faithful Greta, the martyrdom of the 
brave English boys, Antoine’s trials and the hardships 
and slavery which all were called upon to endure. 
Neighbors came in to listen to the reading, and soon 
the wonderful story spread throughout the length and 
breadth of France. The return of the crusading priest 
became the theme of conversation in all circles, from the 
peasant-homes which the betrayed children had left so 
desolate to the giddy court circles, where it became the 
fashion for ladies to appear in bracelets fashioned like 


CONNECTING. 


277 


fetters and styled “ aux innocents Nobles and priests 
came in shoals to visit and gaze upon the still-unconscious 
old man, and the king himself sent a letter of congrat- 
ulation and of welcome. Curses long and deep rang 
throughout Christendom against the two false mer- 
chants, and summary vengeance was threatened ; but it 
was found that retribution had already overtaken the 
deceivers, for, being detected in a somewhat similar affair 
years before this d&iodement, both had been hanged. 

But all this while no one could even guess at the his- 
tory of those other ten years. From the child herself 
little could be gained. She remembered her parents ; 
they were called papa and rnaman. Where they were 
she could not tell, but the p&re had promised that she 
should see them again some day. She remembered the 
sea and the people — “ the poor sick people she 
remembered walking a great, great many days along 
the roads and over the hills with Pere Ignatius, who told 
her that this was the way the children marched when 
they set out for the crusade, and the people were very 
kind and gave them bread and milk and fruit. She 
was often very tired, and then the poor old p&re would 
carry her, and she would tell him to hurry because she did 
so want to see mamma ! And then he was sick ever so 
many times, and they were obliged to stop for many 
days till he was well enough to go on ; but after that he 
never carried her any more. Then came that dreadful 
day when he fell down by the cross with the cruel image 
on it ; and here she would always break down with a 
sob and the never satisfactorily answered question, 
(( Will he never, never speak to Nannette again ?” The 
sufferings and the excitement of the recent journey 


278 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


seemed to have driven all other memories out of her 
head, and she could never be induced to give any 
particulars of her home or of her early life. 

The child’s appearance had a strange fascination for 
all the household. The old lady declared her to be the 
very image of her Nannette when her eyes were shut : 
Amalie said that the sight of her always called up a 
vision of herself in her babyhood, soothed and com- 
forted by gentle words and sweet hymns till she fell 
into a dreamless slumber ; while Count Bernhard said it 
was the dark, flashing eyes which were most familiar to 
him, and when he looked at them he seemed carried 
back to his boyhood and lived over again the moonlight 
nights at Vend6me and along the road. 

After a long period of somewhat impatient suspense 
the poor old palmer began slowly to recover first his 
bodily, then his mental, powers. It was not age so 
much as anxiety, suffering and sorrow which had enfee- 
bled him, and his naturally good constitution, under the 
care and watching which it received, began at last to re- 
cuperate, and he appeared, save for his snowy hair, what, 
indeed, he was — a man not much over sixty, of vigorous 
intellect enriched by the study of many years. Bern- 
hard recognized again the charm of varied knowledge 
which had so won upon him during the disastrous 
march to Marseilles, and the mother almost lived over 
again the old days when her little ones hung upon 
every word of their dearly-beloved Father Ignatius. 
As for poor little Nannette, she was all smiles and 
excitement. She danced around his bedside or his chair, 
sang hymns or chansons from morning till night, her 
gay laugh ringing like the carol of a bird through the 


CONNECTING. 


279 


old house, but sobered in a moment by the voice which 
called the household to prayer, listening intelligently, 
though somewhat wistfully, while Pere Ignatius told 
her about the New Jerusalem whither her parents w r ere 
gone, and where she would one day follow if she learned 
to love and obey the dear Lord Jesus. They did not 
press him for his story, but one day, when all were 
assembled where the winter sunshine pierced through 
the diamond-panes of the casement, lighting up the 
gloom of the heavy oak paneling, he said suddenly, 

“ My children, I have much to tell that I know you 
are anxiously waiting to hear. Forgive my weakness, 
which has not yet felt equal to the task of going back 
iu memory to the sad scenes which closed the happiest 
period of my troubled life. Forgive me also if now I 
tell my tale like a garrulous old man, dwelling some- 
what long, it may be, on those memories which I would 
fain have lingering with me for ever.” 

All gathered closely round him, and then and for 
many succeeding afternoons, as the old man’s memory 
or strength served, they listened to the particulars of his 
tale. It was a scene never to be forgotten by an 
occasional visitor as night drew on — the two white heads 
standing out against the gathering darkness, the noble, 
manly profile of the German count, the cheery, quiet 
face of his young wife and the bright, restless heads of 
the three children. 








BOOK YI. 


THE OLD PRIEST’S TALE. 
















V 















CHAPTER I. 

SILKEN CHAINS. 

“What boots it if our fetters golden be, 

And our chains silken? Souls are always free” 

TT is not necessary, dear friends, to tell you of my 
leaving Rouen and joining in the crusade, led 
thereto by a desire to protect those children who were as 
dear to me as children of my own could have been — 
or so it hath ever seemed to me. I have always loved 
them with all the strength of my nature. Nor need I 
detail the long march to Marseilles, with its hardships 
and sufferings almost too great to be endured, nor re- 
count the terrible deceit which was practiced upon those 
thousands of innocent children, and which resulted in 
consigning them to slavery and sorrow. 

You have all been sufficiently informed of these 
sad particulars, and I like not to dwell upon them, 
but you cannot know the depths of sorrowful humil- 
iation in which I passed many years that I, a man and 
a student of books, should not have known enough to 
preserve my little ones at least from this terrible fate. 
But, indeed, cloister-life unfits a man for active duties. 
How can we who are brought up in ignorance and seclu- 
sion learn the ways of this wicked world and of the 
men who dwell therein ? and yet sometimes, methinks, 
he who could speak from experience of that sovereign 

283 


284 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


love and grace which are sufficient for all, and are prom- 
ised as a present help in every emergency of life, would 
be the fitter guide for living, sorrowing men and women. 
Ah, well ! the merciful Lord will pardon me in that I 
did it ignorantly, and will not deny me at the last the 
joy of seeing those dear ones whom he knows, as he 
knows my heart, I would have died to save from any 
unhappiness. 

When my boy Antoine and I were parted at Alexan- 
dria, I thought that my poor heart would break. Life 
had nothing more of evil in store for me — slavery no 
further terrors. Never before had I found it hard to 
say, “ It is the Lord ; let him do what seemeth to him 
good.” The evil one, who was a liar from the begin- 
ning, beset me sore, whispering that God had forgotten 
to be gracious, that we were all delivered over to de- 
struction, and sometimes even that there was not any God 
— or, at least, that if God existed he took no notice of the 
sorrows of men. But He who is stronger than the 
Tempter preserved me in all these temptations, and I 
lived to bless his loving discipline, which tore away my 
idols before I lost my soul through worshiping them 
rather than him, and which taught my boy to look only 
to Jesus and to learn alone in the desert directly from 
him such lessons as no erring human teacher could ever 
have imparted. 

The Lord also was very merciful to my weakness, and 
so greatly lightened my captivity that only in name was 
I a slave. The band of four hundred clerks, priests 
and others to which I belonged had been purchased by 
one of the enlightened Saracens of the family of the 
great Saladin, famed for his liberality, courtesy and re- 


THE OLD PRIEST’S TALE. 


285 


spect for learning and the arts.* Malek Kamel had 
heard much of the learning of the Franks, and himself 
spoke several European languages ; his devotion to the 
religion of Islam was but nominal, and as far as lay in 
his power he encouraged foreigners to frequent his court. 
On our arrival at Cairo apartments were assigned us in 
one of his palaces, where every luxury of bath, couch 
and table was placed at our command ; the entree to his 
great libraries was granted us, and we were uniformly 
treated with consideration and respect. No menial 
duties of any sort were demanded of us, but we were 
appointed as tutors and guides to the young princes, 
nobles, and any others who would learn the language 
and the letters of Europe. Our pupils were docile and 
eager to acquire knowledge, even the sultan often deign- 
ing to interest himself in our pursuits. 

For my special charge, Malek Kamel's eldest son — a 
bright boy of about my Antoine's age — I soon felt a 
strong affection, and, as even Christianity was not an 
interdicted subject, I have strong hopes that the good 
seed sown in those early hours of his life may yet an 
hundredfold bring forth fruit for the great harvest. 
Every facility of research among the buildings of the 
beautiful city of the Fatimate caliphs was afforded us ; 
we wandered in its streets at will, and, indeed, El Kahira 
— “ the Conquering " — was well worth studying. The 
delicate tracery of the rich Saracenic architecture of the 
great Mosque of the Caliphs well repaid the study of 
years ; the graceful proportions of the minarets with which 
the city abounds are, especially at evening, an ever-fresh 
dream of delight, and the style of the houses, when one 
* Albericus. 


286 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


gets within their enclosure, is magnificent beyond any- 
thing we have ever known. We wandered in the streets 
at will, visiting the bazars where the riches of the world 
lay piled up in costly heaps of gold, silks and gems 
beneath the projecting roofs of the narrow streets, or we 
took excursions in the neighborhood, seeking the tombs, 
ruins and other curiosities. The only restriction im- 
posed upon us was to obey our pledged word that we 
would not attempt to escape, and be it said to the honor 
of Christian men’s oaths not one of us forfeited his 
pledge. 

Thus peacefully glided away seven years — years in 
which we had all things except freedom ; years that might 
have been not only peaceful, but happy, if I could have 
forgotten those I had left, her I had lost, my promise to 
guide and guard thy children, dearest lady, and my sol- 
emn vows to serve the altars of my God in his holy 
Church. News from Europe occasionally would reach 
us, and at every movement in favor of the crusade 
would creep over me a thrill of hope that perhaps a 
way homeward might thus be opened ; and yet I was 
ever glad when such reports proved unfounded, for it is 
but wanton waste of human life to continue the fruitless 
struggle against those well-appointed and well-discip- 
lined hosts of Asia, who are at home on their own 
ground, whose munitions are at hand, who need no ex- 
pensive means of transportation, and who are, in gen- 
eral, safe from the diseases incident to the climate 
which prove so fatal to Europeans. If the armies of 
the cross are led at times, by the blessing of Heaven 
upon their prowess, toward some temporary advantage, 
it seems impossible for them to retain it. Fresh .clouds 


THE OLD PRIEST’S TALE. 


287 


of infidels roll over the sands of Arabia, fresh armies 
must be raised in Europe to meet them, and all the 
work is to be done over again. 

There was, indeed, one brilliant moment when, stricken 
with pestilence, Damietta lay at the feet of the duke of 
Austria, German crusaders, Teutonic Knights, Hospital- 
lers and Templars, with reinforcements constantly arriv- 
ing from England, France and Italy. Seeing that fur- 
ther resistance would be ineffectual, Cohr Eddin, brother 
of my master, the sultan Kamel, offered to yield the 
whole of Palestine, Jerusalem included, to the crusa- 
ders, to rebuild the walls of the Holy City and to 
restore every European captive in order to save this 
the key to his brother’s dominions. We heard many 
discussions of this project in the palace of Cairo ; in- 
deed, some of our number were employed in transcrib- 
ing copies of the negotiations into the various languages 
spoken by the leaders of the crusade. Judge of our dis- 
appointment when this kindling-star of hope — hope for 
our release from slavery, hope for the attainment of the 
long-desired goal of the crusades — was extinguished by 
the positive refusal of both Templars and Hospitallers, 
headed by the legate Pelagius, to enter into any treaty 
with infidels, whose word, they maintained, was not to 
be trusted ! 

“ I will let them see if the promises of a Saracen are 
worth nothing,” exclaimed Cohr Eddin, on hearing this 
answer; and before the year was out Heaven favored 
him with an opportunity of showing that — in some 
cases, at least — infidels can be more generous than are 
those who fight under the banners of the cross and bear 
the Christian name. For, having taken Damietta — 


288 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


whose garrison was reduced from seventy thousand to 
three thousand — the crusaders, following the same bad 
counsel, instead of marching on Palestine, which now 
lay defenceless before them, turned toward Cairo. This 
time my master offered peace on terms as advantageous 
as before; but, these being again rejected, while the 
invading army waited in inactivity the Nile rose, and 
Pelagius, finding himself cut off from supplies, was 
forced humbly to sue for permission to return to Acre ; 
and then the noble nephew of Saladiu, weeping over 
the starving condition of his enemy’s army, offered him 
peace, safe-conduct to Acre and a plentiful supply of 
food, and in every point faithfully kept his word. 

Not long after this my master called me to a private 
conference, in which he directed me to draw up a propo- 
sition offering to assist the emperor Frederick of Ger- 
many in gaining possession of the Holy Land. He had 
ever been well affected to Christianity, and his only stip- 
ulation was that Moslems as well as Christians should 
be allowed to worship in the sacred city, thus realizing 
his life’s dream of a peaceful union of the crescent with 
the cross.* The negotiations were long and uncertain, 
delayed by the death of Cohr Eddin, but the end was 
that, under the burden of censure from the Holy Father, 
the emperor, with as many followers as twenty small 
galleys could contain — swelled, indeed, by the forces of 
the military orders — to the astonishment of Christendom 
disembarked at Acre, and, marching unopposed to Jeru- 
salem, took formal possession thereof in the name of the 
Lord and his Christ. 

It was then, at length, that my wandering feet found 
* Bernhardus ; Bernhard the Treasurer ; Matthew Paris. 


THE OLD PRIEST’S TALE. 


289 


their way within the gates of Jerusalem — that the poor 
lonely heart which had known so much of sorrow came 
to lay its burden, as so many others have done before, 
where the mighty heart of the world’s Redeemer was 
broken and pierced that from its wounds might come 
forth balm for the healing of every human woe. To 
this altar of sighs I brought my desolation, bearing it 
as of old he bore his heavy cross over the uneven stones 
of the Via Dolorosa to the very hill of Calvary, and 
there found — But I will tell thee at another time what 
the loving-kindness of my Lord had laid up for me at 
the foot of that cross whence spring all the blessings 
which gladden our pilgrimage through this life or crown 
it with glory in that which is to come. 

My noble master, Egypt’s greatest sultan, the last and 
the best of Saladin’s dynasty, whose memory will ever 
lie warm in my heart and claim an unfailing interest in 
my poor prayers, sent me as interpreter with his embassy 
of welcome to the emperor on his entrance into Jerusa- 
lem, and before I left he said to me, 

“ Clerk Ignatius, thou hast served me well, and to 
thee in great measure is due the conclusion of this joy- 
ful treaty, which by the blessing of Allah will end all 
the enmity that for nearly two centuries has burned so 
fiercely betwixt thy people and mine, and has deluged 
the sacred soil with oceans of commingled Saracen and 
Christian blood. Thou deservest well alike of Europe 
and of Asia. It is good to be a prince, if only that one 
may be able adequately to show gratitude. Behold thy 
guerdon : the moment thy foot shall press the rocky 
pavement of the sacred city thou shalt be free, and my 
treasurer hath my orders to pay over to thee so much 
19 


290 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


gold and silver as will keep thee in ease and comfort 
the remainder of thy days. Go where thou wilt — to 
France, if it shall suit thee, and there proclaim that the 
princes of the house of Saladin, while they conquer like 
warriors and govern like statesmen, yet find their 
chiefest glory in giving as princes should. Yet remem- 
ber if ever again thou sighest for the cool, quiet shades 
of the palm trees of Cairo, Malek KamePs palace is open 
to thee, and there thou wilt ever find a home and a 
friend.” 

Dear, generous patron ! Were it not for what I found 
in Jerusalem, though freedom be sweet to every man 
along whose veins course the currents of Frankish 
blood, I might have returned and closed this useless life 
in ease with thee. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE DEAD ALIVE AGAIN, THE LOST FOUND. 

“To bear a burden to the cross 
To bear a song away.” 

TTOW many times during those seven years had my 
heart gone out in wild longings for my brave, 
beautiful Antoine, son of my lonely heart, light of my 
dim eyes, the only being on the great earth’s surface 
whom I cared to see ! How many hours of the starry 
nights I lay awake wondering where he was, what treat- 
ment he had met with, if he had continued firm in the 
faith, and all the other questions which even a parental 
heart might ask about the welfare of its boy ! Such 
thoughts thronged thick around me as I walked through 
the hallowed streets of Jerusalem and remembered how 
all the eager, childish enthusiasm of both Antoine and 
Nannette had centred in the hope of standing on Mount 
Zion. I heard the far-off echo of their hymns, the 
refrain of which was always “Jerusalem,” and once 
again felt the sympathetic thrill of their sure anticipa- 
tions of glory to be found within its walls. I recalled 
the fact that, while the children had left home and 
kindred under the impulse of this beautiful dream, I, 
the priest, had but followed from love of them, and it 
seemed sad that I should reach the goal of their aspira- 

291 


292 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


tions and they not be there. Nannette, indeed, had 
spent seven years in glory before which her brightest 
dreams of “ Jerusalem the golden ” were but as pale 
shadows, but Antoine? Where was he? 

Musing thus as I stood at the holy sepulchre, I was 
attracted by the figure of a man in the dress of an Arab 
physician and conjurer, such as I had often encountered 
in the streets of Cairo, absorbed in writing. The occu- 
pation was nothing unusual, for in the East the duties 
of public scribe are often joined to the other trades of 
this class of people, but in the air and gesture of this 
man there was something which struck me as strangely 
familiar. A moment more and he had thrown back the 
hood of his dark Arab dress, exposing a head and a 
face which possessed even greater fascinations than the 
figure, tall, graceful and manly as that was. It was no 
Arab or Saracen countenance upon which I looked, 
though the features were bronzed with exposure and 
sallow with hardship, fatigue and want — bright Euro- 
pean hair, well- formed French outlines, eyes from which 
looked boyish fire chastened and ennobled by discipline 
and devotion. In a word — for I see thy mother’s heart 
hath outrun my story — no sooner had the eyes rested 
upon me than a glad cry burst from the lips and a pair 
of warm arms clasped me tightly round, wdiile again 
and again a young voice shouted: 

“ Pere Ignatius ! dear, dear father ! Dost thou not 
know thy boy Antoine?” 

It was indeed thy boy, gentle lady — a boy no longer, 
but a man on whom the Master’s refining touch had 
wrought that exquisite delicacy of finish which makes 
his workmanship felt to be a saint even before faintly 


THE OLD PRIEST'S TALE. 


293 


words have issued from the lips. Thank thy God, lady, 
that ever he made thee mother of such a sou. I praise 
him day and night that in his wonderful grace he 
brought us together, never to part again while this earth 
was our home. 

I need not tell thee what passed between us during 
those glad days wherein we wandered from spot to spot 
hallowed by Bible memories and by historical associa- 
tions ; thou hast it all in the diary which he so faithfully 
kept during his seven years’ slavery. I found that 
Antoine was my Antoine still, and yet, somehow, 
changed. Never again could his soul become the reflex 
of any other human soul ; never could his faith hang 
upon the ipse dixit of councils or the tradition of the 
Church. He had learned to think in the great Eastern 
solitude where thought first awoke, and his thoughts 
had soared beyond the narrowly-bounded levels of the 
schools. God himself had whispered in his spirit, 
“ Let there be light,” and where noonday sun shines 
who will be guided by candles ? The crusading spirit 
was yet strong within him, but its aim was far other 
than the establishment of a temporal kingdom among 
the crumbling stones of a ruined city, even although 
that city be hallowed by memories of the birth, life and 
sacrificial death of the Son of God. To proclaim the 
everlasting gospel to all who would listen, to cast down 
idolatry and semi-idolatry from all the high and sacred 
places of the earth, to reform the priesthood and to 
purify the Church itself, — such were some of the dreams 
which had become fixed purposes in the life of this 
young enthusiast ; above all, to reproduce the sacred 
writings in such form and numbers that every man, 


294 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


woman and child might possess the privilege of reading 
in their own tongue that glorious gospel of salvation 
which for a trusting look at the cross offers an eternity 
of life. 

I sighed as I listened to all these burning words and 
as I thought of the days when the young novice Igna- 
tius felt himself strong enough to overturn with his hon- 
est right arm all existing evils, social and spiritual, and 
then of the reverse picture of Ignatius the priest spend- 
ing the life of a student, first in the monastery-cell, 
where all thought was of necessity cut down to the 
Procrustean measure of authority, and then in a hea- 
then palace, where but to hold on to the faith in the 
face of such disadvantages required all the spiritual 
strength to be gained by watching, fasting and prayer. 

But I had other reasons for sighing over Antoine’s 
rhapsodies, for such, in many instances, they seemed to 
me. I had not yet forgotten Raymond of Toulouse 
and his Albigense subjects ; their persecutions and suf- 
ferings were among the earliest impressions of my life. 
What if this bright young man, so full of noble confi- 
dence in his cause and its success, should draw down 
upon himself the wrath of those the enjoyment of whose 
position, influence and riches rested entirely in the 
continuation of those very abuses he was so earnestly 
desirous to destroy? It was an unworthy thought. 
The Lord forgive me ! but love sometimes makes us 
untrustful for the loved one, and I could not bear to 
think that my boy should exchange slavery among infi- 
dels for persecution and ecclesiastical dungeons in Chris- 
tian lands. I need not have disquieted myself. The 
Lord knew better than I how to preserve his, young 


THE OLD PRIEST’S TALE. 


295 


apostle from all evil and to fold him safely beneath the 
shadow of his wing. 

One other thought divided Antoine’s interest in his 
anticipated work for Christ — to find Bertholde de Tour- 
ville, to unite her with himself in his great enterprise. 
Somewhere, he was sure, she was awaiting him. No 
suggestions of death or unfaithfulness, of the almost 
inevitableness of the fate awaiting a beautiful female 
captive in Moslem hands, could for a moment find lodg- 
ment in his fears. Only death, he said, could touch her, 
and that he had divine assurance should not come to her 
so long as he remained upon the earth. His plan 
was to seek for her in every city or town along the 
borders of the Mediterranean where he could hear of 
Europeans being held in slavery, and the directing Hand 
which had guided him in safety across the pathless des- 
ert would, he had no doubt, point out his way to the 
hiding-place of Bertholde. If I would accompany him, 
he would be doubly glad ; if not, our paths must again 
diverge, here at Jerusalem. 

The plan was sufficiently chimerical, but I would not 
again be parted from my boy. Moreover, the gold with 
which my generous master the sultan had provided me, 
and which at the time had seemed of little worth, would 
greatly assist Antoine in carrying out his enterprise ; 
therefore it was arranged that I, a free man who had 
little fear, should travel on my homeward journey from 
the crusades attended by my young Arab slave. Even 
so the journey would be sufficiently perilous, for stories 
were everywhere told us of the cruelty, fanaticism and 
rapacity of the Moors who inhabited the African cities 
along the coasts of the great sea, and we ran many risks 


296 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


of being again captured and sold a second time into 
slavery. Nevertheless, we put our trust in God, bade 
a reluctant — and yet, on Antoine’s part, an impatient — 
farewell to Jerusalem, walked down the Via Dolorosa, 
issued from the gate of the city and together set forth 
upon our perilous way. 

Our steps were first directed to Acre, where John of 
Brienne had so long held his court as king of Jerusa- 
lem. The Knights Templar, as ye know, long held 
possession of this place, and it was strongly fortified. 
We were kindly received here. I was congratulated 
upon my liberation, and my accounts of actual life with- 
in the enemy’s camp were listened to with great interest. 
I could see, however, that my words in praise of the 
sultan or his family met with little favor, and my state- 
ment with regard to the secret treaty was not believed 
at all. Then, for the first time, I knew that the whole 
negotiation had been a strictly private one, and that the 
emperor Frederick would reap a harvest of glory in 
Europe, when it became known there that with a hand- 
ful of men, and unaided, save by the never-failing 
prowess of the military orders, he had wrested the Holy 
City from Moslem power, and by so doing put an end 
to more than two centuries of bloodshed. Thus is 
glory reaped ; from such materials is history written by 
the pen of partisanship! 

At Acre we took passage upon a goufre which was 
bound for Alexandria. With what different eyes we 
gazed upon the monumental city of the Macedonian con- 
queror, now that the dread of slavery and separation was 
no longer before our eyes ! The great lighthouse loomed 
up grandly from the mouth of the harbor, exhibiting on its 


THE OLD PRIEST’S TALE. 


297 


side the depression in the stone from which had been 
removed the plaster which once contained this inscrip- 
tion, “King Ptolemy to the gods, the saviors for the 
benefit of sailors.” Deep cut in the living rock may 
now be read the name of the architect; “Sostratns 
the Cnidian, the son of Dixiphanes.” Thus I trust will 
it be with us when time and the waters of death shall 
have removed all the artificial coverings with which hu- 
man influences have enshrouded us. In that hour of 
revealings may the name of our true maker God be 
found deeply graven on our hearts ! 

We landed at the gate of Canopus and proceeded up 
the now almost ruinous street, one hundred feet wide, 
along which the great conqueror was wont to guide his 
triumphal car, and discoursed together of the mistaken 
warrior who, insisting upon being considered as the son 
of a god, died like a beast and left his glory and his 
conquests as bones of contention for his unwieldy army 
to fight over and to dissipate, as they soon did, to the 
four winds of heaven. Even the magnificent city which 
he meant should for ever perpetuate his name has so 
paled before the rising glory of Cairo that, although the 
latter is not yet three hundred years old, it has drawn 
away all the luxury and wealth of the Delta and of 
Upper Egypt, leaving Alexandria stranded upon the 
shores. But more sad to me than even the decay of the 
city — a sadness, however, in which Antoine seemed to 
have little sympathy — was the ruinous site where once 
stood the world-renowned library destroyed by Amrou’s 
army in 640 and never rebuilt. 

“ To think how much poorer the world is for such a 
catastrophe !” said I. “ To what degree of enlighten- 


298 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


ment might not the nations have progressed if during all 
these centuries they had been possessors of those thou- 
sands of priceless volumes and manuscripts which can 
never be replaced !” 

“ Rather, father,” said Antoine, “ let us rejoice that 
the one book of absolute value to our race has been so 
miraculously preserved amid all the dangers which have 
threatened it, and strive to exhume it from the masses 
of debris with which the ages have covered it, that it 
may become a universal library known and read of all 
men. With this treasure ensured to us, we can afford to 
let all others go.” 

And I was rebuked by my boy ! 

We met some who had been children in the crusade, 
now grown to the stature of men beneath the oppressive 
rule of Macshemuth, governor of the city. Slavery 
had crushed the manhood out of them, but of not an 
instance did I hear in which threats, persuasion or ill- 
usage had induced one to deny the faith of the cross. 
We promised to tell on our return the story of their 
hard fate, and to endeavor to induce some one to ransom 
them, and we bade them farewell with sad hearts and 
with unavailing pity. 

At Alexandria we chartered a small boat such as is 
commonly used for the trade along the south coast of 
the Mediterranean, and, embarking in her, floated quietly 
from day to day, landing at the various towns and vil- 
lages along the shore and everywhere making inquiries 
concerning girl-captives held in slavery. We rarely 
heard of any, or, if we did, they were such as in point 
of age or length of residence could not possibly have 
been brought there in 1212. 


THE OLD PRIEST'S TALE . 


299 


But at length, when but for Antoine’s never-swerving 
certainty that at the last he must find his Bertholde the 
search would have been given up as hopeless, we were 
told in a small fishing-village whose name I have for- 
gotten that in the great town of Bujeieh, some leagues 
to the westward, were many hundreds of girls, brought 
there by slave-traders six or seven years ago, and yet 
living there in slavery. 

“ At least,” added our informant, an old fisherman who 
carried his cargo to Bujeieh every month, “ such of them 
as are living, for they say that death has been busy among 
them. I had a brother once residing in this city, and 
two of these captives were very kind to him, coming by 
night to minister to his necessities and to care for him 
when he was ill, but since his death I know nothing of 
them.” 

u Thank God,” fervently exclaimed Antoine on hear- 
ing this report, “ that our search is ended ! The lost is 
found.” 

Our preparations were soon made. We dismissed 
the boat hired at Alexandria, and engaged to pay the old 
fisherman a large sum for taking us with him to Bujeieh 
on his next fishing-voyage, and for assisting us in car- 
rying off Bertholde de Tourville should we succeed in 
finding her. But my heart sank at the slight chance — 
nay, the apparent impossibility — there was of our find- 
ing one female slave, who was in all probability kept 
close within the enclosure of some hareem, in so large 
a city as this was reported to be. There was also great 
danger to us all in case our object should be discovered, 
for in nothing else had the Moslems of the Mediterra- 
nean shown themselves so relentlessly cruel as in the 


300 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


immediate execution of those who had either attempted 
the liberation of captives or the preaching of Christian- 
ity in their midst. But Antoine’s enthusiasm was un- 
flagging, and his assured certainty of finding Bertholde, 
and of finding her in Bujeieh, almost carried conviction 
with it even to myself. 

We had transferred to the fisherman’s boat such pro- 
visions and other necessaries and comforts as we had been 
able to procure at Alexandria, and now had to wait only 
while he caught the cargo of fish the sale of which would 
effectually conceal our real purpose in visiting Bujeieh. 
This necessary preliminary consumed several days, dur- 
ing which we lazily floated along the glassy surface of 
the summer sea, watching idly the tossing of the many- 
colored seaweeds fathoms beneath the clear water and the 
gently-undulating line of the African coast, with, at 
times, its sharply-cut mountain-range in the distance. 
Antoine and I discussed many feasible and unfeasible 
plans of the line of action to be pursued when once we 
should reach Bujeieh, but were compelled, after all, to 
leave our method of procedure to be decided by chance, 
which I hold to be only another word to indicate the 
overruling and directing will of God. But we need not 
have wasted time or strength in planning, for He had 
gone before us, and all things were ready to our hand. 

During those waiting-days we talked much with the 
old fisherman and heard more and more of the two 
European slaves who, attended by a eunuch and evi- 
dently the property of some one of high rank, had been 
wont for several years to care for the poor who dwelt 
around the harbor, reading them words from a good 
book and speaking beautiful things of an elysium to 


THE OLD PRIEST'S TALE. 


301 


which they should some day be removed — an elysium 
where there were no more sorrow and no more poverty. 

u My brother / 5 said the old man, u was quite ready 
to embrace the faith of the cross of which these cap- 
tives had told him so much, but, fortunately, he died 
before his apostasy from the true faith could be known 
to our priests . 55 

“And thou ? 55 said I. “ Wouldst not thou like also 
to die in that precious faith in the Crucified ? 55 

“ If it is to be, it will be , 55 he answered. “ The faith 
is a beautiful one — my brother told me much about it — 
but I care not to be executed in Bujeieh ; it suits me bet- 
ter to sell fish. Allah is good ! I know not ; what is 
to be will be . 55 

It was the close of the month Ramadan, the eve of 
the night of predestination, the great feast of the Mo- 
hammedan year. We were sailing near the entrance to 
a beautiful bay wooded to the water’s edge. Sloping to 
the farther shore stood an immense stately city whose 
white domes, minarets and palace walls gleamed among 
heavy masses of green foliage, in which they were every- 
where embedded. So fair a sight I have seldom seen. 

“ Behold Bujeieh, the third holy city in the world / 5 
said our fisherman-friend. “ In the morning we will 
run in to the quay . 55 

The bay — or, more properly, the harbor — was almost 
landlocked, and directly across its mouth lay a tiny 
green island, an emerald gem set in the silver of the 
sea. On its farther side rose a silken pavilion of many 
colors, and in various directions smaller ones of snowy 
white dotted its surface. Female forms flitted among 
the trees — not, as usual, closely veiled, but exposing 


302 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


to view those exquisite charms which characterize Mo- 
hammedan descriptions of the houris who await the 
repose of the Faithful in elysium. From this fact I 
judged the island to be one of those pleasure-grounds 
which many of the rich and noble Moors and Saracens 
keep for the relaxation of the members of their hareems 
at festival-times of the year. 

Our little bark floated so close to the shore that I 
could see one graceful form prostrate upon a rock close 
to the water’s edge. A fringe of thickly-intertwined 
bushes completely hid her from the sight of those on 
the island, but every movement was visible to us. A 
heavy mass of wavy black hair which descended almost 
to the water’s edge contrasted with a face whose exqui- 
site proportions and deadly pallor gave it a painful like- 
ness to sculptured marble. Sobs shook the rounded form, 
and ever and anon a pair of large dark eyes opened and 
glanced upward with agonizing appeal to Heaven. Two 
alabaster hands were clasped in prayer, and the sign of 
the cross was traced upon the breast. This was evidently 
no Asiatic or African, although clad in dress and jewels 
which well might have become a Moorish princess, and 
about the whole attitude there was an abandon of de- 
spairing grief which made it almost impossible for me 
to withdraw my eyes from her. But, turning for a 
moment to see if Antoine had observed the same object, 
I was struck by the eager light in his eyes and by the 
agitation of his whole person. 

“Selim,” he whispered, hoarsely, to our boatman, 
“but take us close to yonder rock and I will double 
thy guerdon.” 

Selim obeyed. The water was deep even close tp the 


THE OLD PRIEST’S TALE. 


303 


rock, and in a moment more we were noiselessly gliding 
toward the shore. The white figure was so absorbed by 
its grief as to be utterly unconscious of our presence, 
until, as the boat’s prow struck sharply against the 
rock, the woman sprang up with a faint cry which, 
fortunately for us, was heard by no one else. It was 
checked instantly as Antoine, springing from the prow, 
caught her slight form in his arms with a whispered 
u Bertholde !” which was answered by a cry whose rap- 
turous accents thrilled me through : 

“ Antoine, my Antoine ! At last !” 

Not another word was spoken as the boat glided 
quietly round, and we headed once more for the open 
sea. 

“ Fisherman, row for thy life,” whispered Antoine. 
u Never before didst thou carry such freight;” and 
ere long we were far from the danger of immediate 
pursuit. 

I cannot repeat all that passed during that long night. 
Antoine was the dearest object in the world to me, and, 
rejoicing in his happiness, I sat looking at the play of 
the moonlight upon the rippling waters, thanking God 
for his great goodness to my loved one and praying that 
all possible blessings might rest upon him and his chosen 
bride 


CHAPTER III. 

THE HAVEN OF BEST. 

“I heed not if 
My rippling skiff 

Float swift or slow from cliff to cliff; 

With dreamful eyes 
My spirit lies 

Under the walls of Paradise.” 

T. Buchanan Bead. 

S OMEWHERE toward morning Antoine’s voice 
awakened me from the light slumber into which 
I had fallen : 

“ Father, dear father, as ever thou must come to the 
aid of thy children. What do not Bertholde and I owe 
to thee ?” 

Thus summoned, I joined in the conference, and they 
told me the peculiar circumstances from which we had 
rescued Bertholde, and which rendered it more than 
probable that she would be sought for and reclaimed 
if we were anywhere within reach of the young emir’s 
passion and vengeance. It would, therefore, be unsafe 
to land upon the African coast, but how, in that shal- 
lop of a boat, should we cross the treacherous sea in 
order to reach a European port? Moreover, could we 
succeed in reaching Italy, I doubted if His Holiness, 
who was known to have held to their vows the children 


304 


THE OLD PRIEST’S TALE. 


305 


who returned from the crusade, would not have sent us 
both back to Palestine, and then what was left for Ber- 
tholde, thus deprived of all protection, save the shel- 
tering walls of a convent ? I much doubted, also, if my 
young hero’s reforming zeal would be well received in 
Rome. I feared his enthusiasm might outrun his discre- 
tion, and his liberty — perchance his life — be sacrificed in 
an utterly hopeless crusade against the corruptions of the 
Church. And what if the pope, in his office of supreme* 
dictator of the politics of Christendom, should refuse to 
allow Bertholde de Tourville, daughter of one of the 
chief vassals of the French Crown, heiress to its largest 
duchy and early affianced to a noble count, to wed with 
Antoine, the cloth weaver’s son, a bourgeois of Rouen ? 

We talked over these and other considerations till the 
rosy flush of dawn began to glow upon the water and 
the advancing light revealed a rocky island on our left. 

“ San Pietro, by the beard of the Prophet !” exclaimed 
Selim. “ I did not think we had made so fair a run.” 

“ Knowest thou the island, then ?” 

“ Indeed, I know it well. Yon towering precipice is 
the Falcon’s Nest, and at its foot thou beholdest the 
Hermit’s Rock. They say a pious dervish long ago 
passed his days there in fasting and prayer. His spirit 
still haunts the rock and makes it safe for the fishing- 
boats of the Faithful to pass even between it and the 
great cliff of San Pietro ; but if aught that bodes ill for 
the cause of Islam passes this way, he lashes the sea into 
fury, and many of the knights thy people term crusa- 
ders have, in consequence, been shipwrecked at the foot 
of the Hermit’s Rock. There now lie upon its pebbly 
strand, visible at every low tide, thousands of white bones 
20 


306 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


which from their size one would take to be those of chil- 
dren. I examined them myself when I last came hither 
for fish.” 

Then Bertholde, starting, exclaimed, 

“I know the place; I remember it well. — Antoine, 
hast thou forgotten the shipwreck of the two galleys and 
the shrieks of the little crusaders as the storm dashed 
the vessels against those terrible rocks? I can never 
shut out that awful sight.” 

On further inquiry we all became convinced that this 
was indeed the very spot where two thousand of those 
deceived children had so miserably perished. It grieved 
me to think that for seven long years all that remained 
of the little martyrs — for such assuredly they were — had 
lain thus exposed to the ravages of the furious elements, 
with no friendly hand to give to them the privilege of 
Christian sepulture. 

“ If thou desirest temporary shelter from pursuit and 
a nest wherein to hide thy pretty captive bird, there is no 
safer one in all the sea than this same isle of Falcons,” 
said Selim to Antoine, “and that we fisher-folk know 
full well. Every summer we come hither for the tunny- 
fish which make all our little fortune along the shore. 
Will it please thee that we make here a landing?” 

“ At the foot of yon inaccessible rock ? Nay ; my cap- 
tive had needs be a bird indeed to scale that crag while 
we who are only mortals gaze helplessly from below.” 

“ Nay, fair sir ; have patience, and I will show thee,” 
said Selim, turning his helm as he spoke. 

We waited in silence as the boat gradually rounded the 
rocky promontory and floated into a quiet, glassy harbor 
to whose very edge sloped the green, velvety turf, shaded 


THE OLD PBIEST’S TALE. 


307 


here and there by a few magnificent trees and fringed by 
silvery olives or dark-green orange trees, among whose 
shining leaves glistened the golden fruit. So sudden 
and complete a change I had never before witnessed, 
and “ Peace !” was the word which burst simultaneously 
from all our lips. It seemed as though, in compensa- 
tion for our wanderings and hardships of seven years, 
a little vision of heavenly rest had been let down to us, 
and the angel of peace, extending her sheltering arms, 
beckoned to us to enter. On my expressing surprise 
that no human dwelling appeared in this lovely spot, 
Selim informed me that it was not always thus lonely. 
There were at times hundreds or more fishermen who 
spent several weeks, or even months, upon the island 
in the summer-time. 

“ But now,” he added, “ we are perfectly safe from 
pursuit.” 

The sunrise was just flushing in the east when we 
stepped from the boat’s prow on to the emerald turf, 
having unanimously decided to accept this lovely islet 
as our present shelter. Our first act was to fall upon 
our knees and pour out our thanks to the loving Father 
Avho had guided our strange fortunes into this haven of 
rest, hiding us, as it were, in the hollow of his hand 
until the tumult of rage should be overpast. 

I was surprised to see Selim join in our attitude of 
devotion, prostrating himself in Oriental fashion before 
the rude cross which we had hastily erected upon the 
sward. On rising he said, 

“ Allah is great and Jesus ben David is his Prophet ! 
Said I not if it were to be it would be? and it is. It 
is the lady. I knew who she was the moment we took 


308 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


her from the rock, and then I knew that Allah had sent 
her to show me the way she pointed out to my brother — 
even the way of the cross. Henceforth old Selim fol- 
loweth the fortunes of the Latins if they will have him. 
No wife or child awaits his home-coming, and death 
would be the Moors’ only welcome to a Moslem who 
hath once knelt at the foot of the cross.” 

Thus was won the first convert of our little Chris- 
tian colony, and thus He who had commanded us to 
preach the gospel to every creature set the seal of his 
approval upon our work. Selim was sent to us as were 
the ravens to Elijah — to preserve life ; for how should 
a useless scholar, a delicately-reared maiden, or even an 
escaped slave, succeed in gaining a subsistence from the 
watery wastes or the island soil ? But the old man’s 
skill in fishing, his familiarity with the various African 
ports, those of Sardinia, and even of Italy — which he 
frequently visited — enabled him to procure for us all the 
necessaries of life, tents for habitation, agricultural im- 
plements and seed when they were needed, until events 
afterward to be recorded made of our little island a flour- 
ishing colony whose like was never seen for contentment 
and peace. Thank God for faithful Selim ! God and 
the holy saints watch over his resting-place by the blue 
sea and give him abundant entrance at the last into his 
heavenly kingdom ! 

“ Father,” said Antoine, “thou hast another office to 
perform which befits thine holy calling. Shall not the 
blessing of Holy Church be invoked upon thy children 
that in this Eden, as did the first pair in the sight of 
God alone, they may begin to live, helpmeet for each 
other, as man and wife?” 


THE OLD PRIEST’S TALE. 


309 


Why should it not? Had not the hand of God evi- 
dently made and preserved for each other my noble 
and enthusiastic boy and the no less noble and steadfast 
Bertholde? True, this wedding would be somewhat 
irregular, but my ecclesiastical office sufficed to render 
it legal, and who could doubt the blessing of God upon 
two such faithful and devoted hearts ? Nevertheless, I 
took it upon me to represent to Bertholde the riches and 
the honors which would await her should she return to 
France free to make the brilliant marriage her position 
and her rank would command. 

“ Talkest thou to me of worldly honors?” said she. 
“ I thought thou wouldst rather have bade me become 
the bride of Heaven should Antoine deem me unworthy 
the honor of his hand and his name. Besides, knowest 
thou not that slavery maketh all ranks equal? It is 
Antoine who has conferred rank on me — even that of 
a free woman.” 

It is useless to detail our further conversation. Every 
obstacle was overborne by the resolute determination of 
the two young hearts, and, indeed, I made but a faint- 
hearted objector. And so my great cathedral became 
a bridal-scene, and with the green turf for carpet, the 
bright morning sky for canopy, the wash of quiet waters 
for music, the songs of merry birds for marriage-bells, 
old Selim as sole representative of a witnessing crowd 
of wedding-guests and one poor old priest to stand for 
bishops, canons and choir, was duly solemnized a mar- 
riage at which I believe the Wedding-guest of Cana 
performed anew that beginning of miracles by turning 
the troubled waters of two eventful young lives into 
the heavenly wine of full contentment and peace which 


310 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


could nevermore be exhausted nor its golden light cloud- 
ed, but flowed ever onward in one steady stream of 
increasing brightness till it mingled its gladsome cur- 
rent with the ocean of life whose waters surround His 
throne. 

And now began ten years whose record is that of 
perpetual joy. The storms of our lives were over ; our 
warfare was accomplished : we were within a mystic 
circle into which no evil thing could come. As the 
groundswell at our feet brought from time to time its 
murmuring tale of tempests which were raging in wild 
fury outside, so we heard of storms in the great world 
— wars, intrigues, conspiracies — but they touched not 
our abode of peace. Thus, it seemeth to me, live the 
happy dead in paradise, knowing all the conflicts and 
struggles of the world they have left behind, untouched 
by its contending passions and emotions save when a 
holy pity for their former companions mingles with the 
rapture of their own lives — a pity from which all pain 
is taken away by their clear vision of the compensating 
glory awaiting within the veil. 

Not that our life was one of idleness. Such a spirit 
as my Antoine’s would never have contented itself thus. 
His self-imposed vows of consecration, sworn to at the 
holy sepulchre, were too sincerely taken for that; the 
preaching of the cross of Christ crucified was to him 
the aim and occupation of life. Neither did we ever 
contemplate a lengthened residence upon our island, but 
at first concealment was absolutely necessary; and when, 
afterward, we from time to time spoke of returning to 
France, the obstacles appeared so many, and our Master 
had given us so much work for him carrying with it its 


THE OLD PBIEST’S TALE. 


311 


own sweetness, that delay followed delay and still we 
lingered in our paradise. 

Our first duty was that of collecting and depositing 
beneath the soft green turf those many little bones which 
for seven years had been whitening in the wind and the 
sun at the foot of the Hermit’s Rock. Reverently we 
laid them to rest amid tears which were not all pitiful, 
for we remembered how the untimely fate of the two 
thousand children had preserved them from the knowl- 
edge of the deception practiced upon them, from bitter 
experience of slavery, from possible commission of sin. 
As time passed on and stronger hands were able to assist 
us, we gathered the loose stones of the island and con- 
structed above these remains a rude chapel, wherein was 
performed morning and evening, Sundays and saints’ 
days, the Church’s impressive ritual of prayer, praise 
and sacramental service. Also upon the Falcon’s Nest 
we built a beacon-tower, on which we took care to keep 
a clear light steadily burning when winds and waters 
threatened to destroy other voyagers as they had once 
destroyed our little friends. 

For we were not left loug to enjoy our discovered 
paradise alone. First came the summer encampment 
of fishermen, among whom Antoine’s full heart poured 
out his ready message of salvation, with such effect that 
many of these new converts from Mohammedanism de- 
sired to remain with us, as Selim had done, that they 
might learn the way of God more perfectly and at the 
same time escape the persecution sure to be encountered 
at home. Year by year many came, and year by year 
some remained, till our fishing-population became quite 
a colony. The fishermen, however, were not all Mo- 


312 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


hammedans. Many a boat from Sardinia, Corsica and 
the Italian shores put into the well-known harbor, car- 
ried thence the report of our prosperity, and returned 
another year with wives and children to cast in their 
lot with us. Of course we soon had quite a little fleet 
of fishing-boats going aud coming, bringing supplies and 
news from various ports, and carrying letters which we 
hoped would tell of our whereabouts and welfare to those 
in France who we knew were anxiously desiring to hear 
from us. Much I marvel, dearest lady, that none of 
these missives ever reached thine hand. 

There was also in course of time another element 
added to our little community. A party of Christian 
captives managed through unheard-of perils to escape 
from slavery among the Moors, and, seeking, as we had 
done, for temporary secrecy and shelter, were directed 
by Providence to our isle, and after this our Christian 
fishermen — who, like all new converts, were enthusiastic 
in the service of the faith — never returned homeward 
without bringing with them either some Christian cap- 
tive whose chains they had assisted to break, or some 
Nubian, Egyptian or Mohammedan whom they would 
fain lead to that cross whose light had beamed upon 
them like the beacon on the Falcon’s Nest. 

Among this mixed population we, the first settlers, 
were very busy. Bertholde tended the sick, instructed the 
ignorant and was friend aud guardian-angel to the whole 
island. I performed the daily rites of the Church, 
baptizing, burying, marrying, as the case might be. 
Antoine, with me, told again and again the old yet 
ever-new story of divine love and pity, sin and its 
redemption, the way of sorrows which, leading to the 


THE OLD PRIEST’S TALE . 


313 


foot of the cross, opens thence into a path of triumph 
through the pearly gates of the city of everlasting bless- 
edness. Antoine’s success in preaching was far greater 
than mine, and I sometimes think this was owing not 
so much to his half-boyish enthusiasm and fervid elo- 
quence -as to the fact that he was a man living a human 
life among other men — not a priest set apart as one of a 
separate caste, not a monk supposed to be above the 
ordinary grade of our common humanity, but a man 
speaking to other men of like passions with himself, 
telling them the truths which God himself had taught 
him. Once my boy said to me, 

“Father, when the Church was first ‘ built upon the 
foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ 
being the chief Corner-stone ’ and cementing the whole 
with his precious blood, the workmen were not all priests 
or monks or hermits. Those saints whose memories we 
have for so many centuries revered, and whom the igno- 
rant and superstitious have debased by turning them 
into idols like those of the heathen, giving to them the 
worship due to a ‘ jealous God’ alone, were common men 
— soldiers, laborers, women, and even little children — 
each telling in his own way how precious the name of 
Jesus had become and sealing his testimony with the 
common life-blood which flowed through the veins of his 
brothers and sisters. This was why the faith spread so 
in the beginning and flashed from camp to camp of the 
armies, from province to province of the Roman empire. 
Father, dost thou not think that the day will yet come 
when throughout every land over which falls the sacred 
shadow of the cross its sweet story will float from lip to 
lip, mothers teaching it to their children, women carry- 


314 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


ing it to sick-beds, neighbor repeating it to neighbor, 
youths and maidens giving to its promulgation the fresh- 
ness of their early life — nay, more, great companies of 
those who know its preciousness leaving home, friends, 
and all other interests, to carry its healing power into 
the dark places where as yet the glorious sunshine hath 
never arisen ? Then would the days of the early Church 
come back again, and his glorious gospel be preached, 
as the Lord Christ intended it should be, from ocean to 
ocean, from sea unto sea. It seemeth to me, father, that 
the reason our beautiful Church hath become so corrupt 
in these latter days is that we have left to the priesthood 
the work which ^uglit to be done by the Church. Bap- 
tized Christians who are signed with the holy cross and 
pledged to fight manfully under its banners are giving 
themselves to the pursuit of lands, riches and honors, 
are giving play to all evil passions in war and blood- 
shed, are falling asleep amid sensual dreams and paying 
a sacerdotal caste for indulgence in all iniquity, vainly 
fancying that vicarious prayers will do for them after 
death that which the Lord’s vicarious sufferings have 
failed to do in life — give them entrance into a heaven 
over whose portal is inscribed, ‘ Without holiness no 
man can see the Lord.’ ” 

Bold words from my brave young eagle ! I mis- 
doubted their favorable reception in some high eccle- 
siastical quarters, and their utterance made my timid 
old heart more willing that he should remain in our 
quiet haven till age should have added somewhat of 
prudence unto godly zeal. Yet at times he chafed im- 
patiently at his comparatively confined sphere of effort. 

“ To remain here, speaking only to hundreds, when a 


THE OLD PRIEST'S TALE. 


315 


world is calling me !” he would say. “ Think of Peter 
the Hermit, think of St. Bernard ! and my cause is 
holier than theirs.” 

“ Think of St. John upon the isle of Patinos,” I 
ventured to say, “ and let the ‘ voice of many waters ’ 
to which he listened there make itself distinctly heard 
to thine own soul ere thou attemptest to communicate 
it to others. There is waiting work for those who 
would run on God’s errands, and that, too, is of the 
Lord.” 

Then Bertholde would say, 

“As thou wilt, love. Our island has been a paradise, 
but what were paradise without thee? Where thou goest 
I will go ; thy God is my God, and where he hath need 
of Antoine there hath he also need of Bertholde. Only 
let us linger a little longer at the gates of paradise before 
they close behind us for ever.” 

And so we lingered from day to day and from year 
to year, Antoine, though he knew it not, doing a work 
better than which no apostle’s tongue, though it echoed 
from land to land or was heard in court after court, 
could have accomplished, sowing the good seed of the 
gospel in hearts where only weeds had grown before, 
restoring the lost image of Christ where devils had 
nearly obliterated it, preparing dying men and women 
for happy death and a glorious immortality. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE LITTLE CLOUD AND THE FLOOD OF RAIN. 


“Cloud in the golden gloaming, 

Say, art thou big with rain? 

Over the blue waves rolling, 

Float thou away again. 

Cloud no bigger than this right hand, 

Cursest or blessest thou this land ?’’ 

A MID such surroundings was little Nannette born 
and educated — the child of the whole settlement, 
loved by all, ministering to all, devotedly loved — not 
idolized — by those young parents who had so early learned 
in the severe school of sorrow to set their affections on 
things above. Her name was the joint-impulse of our 
three hearts, and we strove that her education should 
make her, so far as human child might be, like the 
angel Nannette who for so many years had been among 
those girls and boys who, we are told, play upon the 
golden-paved streets of the “city which hath founda- 
tions.” We told her of that child-angel and the beau- 
tiful home to which she was gone, but we did not tell 
her much of our early abode or of the eventful histories 
of our lives. Childhood is so fresh and exists so entirely 
in the present that every day brought enough of occu- 
pation and interest to fill her little life full to the brim. 
The stars, the green sward, the ocean-shells picked up 

316 


THE OLD PRIEST’S TALE. 


317 


on the sparkling white beach, the wives and children of 
the fishermen, sick people and babies, prayers, praises, 
stories of holy places and things, — these in endlessly- 
recurring succession made up her young life, a life cir- 
cled by love. I doubt if she ever heard of her relations 
in Rouen or dreamed that the blood of monarchs flowed 
in her veins, and that her mother was heir to one of the 
fairest duchies sheltered beneath the lilies of France. 
Indeed, amid the primitive simplicity of our island- 
surroundings, it would have been impossible to make 
her comprehend the idea. 

I have brought our little one to thee, dear lady ; pre- 
serve if thou canst that simplicity, and at last render 
her up pure and unspotted by the world to the parent- 
arms which are even now stretching out longingly to- 
ward her on the other side of the river. Thou seest how 
strangely she blendeth the lineaments of both thy chil- 
dren with the bright dark eyes and aristocratic grace of 
Bertholde de Tourville ; thou wilt yet learn how in her 
nature all Antoine’s noble enthusiasm is blended with 
and softened by her mother’s vivacious spirit and witch- 
ing grace. 

And so the last year of our little millennium came. 
Once more the groundswell of rumor told us of trou- 
bles in the great world — “ wars and rumors of wars, per- 
plexity and distress among the nations.” More than 
that, we heard of a fearful pestilence which walked 
abroad at noonday and shot out its poisoned arrows at 
high and low, rich and poor, alike. But we never 
dreamed that it could cross the charmed circle which 
encompassed us ; nay, in our confident security, we had 
many tears of pity to spare for those whom no such 


318 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


enchanted elysium held in its safekeeping, many prayers 
for sufferers and those exposed to this fearful disease. 

But even then the “ cloud no bigger than a man’s 
hand” was floating in the horizon. Alas ! how tiny may 
be that cloud which comes to spread its black wings 
over the garden of Eden to blight her fairest flowers, 
to change her choicest delights into apples of Sodom 
whose liberated ashes fill the hand which but now 
grasped the golden fruit ! We saw the cloud one 
afternoon — Antoine, Bertholde and I — seated, as was 
sometimes our wont, with little Nannette at our feet, 
on the high cliff of the Falcon’s Nest. A dark sail 
appeared on the far verge of the horizou, and Bertholde 
began to speculate in all kinds of ways as to the possible 
contents of the vessel and its probable destination. 

“ Some fairy-bark, perhaps, or demon-craft, such as I 
used to be obliged to read about in the musty old books 
at Tourville when Madame la F§re always set me some 
such penance for looking at a certain citizen-boy instead 
of my beads at church.” 

Then she told us all sorts of comical stories of great 
round ships filled with Saracens and demons who drew 
recreant knights from their galleys by the hairs of their 
heads, plunging them into infernal abysses, never to be 
heard of more, of griffons who came out of boiling 
springs in the bottom of the ocean for the purpose of 
carrying off sentimental damsels, and the like, all with 
the same merry humor which long ago was the life of 
our weary evenings on the march to the sea. 

Antoine checked her in this, for, though it was plain 
to see that her lively conversation gave him pleasure, he 
liked not that his child should hear the foolish pagan 


THE OLD PRIEST'S TALE. 


319 


legends “ which, ” he said, “ it was the master-stroke of 
Satan to persuade credulous people to introduce into the 
Church for the corruption thereof.” Then he began to 
speak of the charm he had ever found'in gazing from a 
height oyer an extensive prospect, calling to mind the 
Mons St. Catherine, here in Rouen, the height of Four- 
vieres, at Lyons, where we had all spent that happy 
evening before Nannette’s death, and where the story 
of the two Lyounaise martyrs had taken such a hold 
upon the imaginations of the English boys as to inspire 
them with courage aud strength to join the same noble 
army without a fear. He spoke then of the height of 
Notre Dame de la Garde, where Bernhard — his brother, 
as he ever called him — had waved a final farewell to the 
little crusaders as they sailed away from Marseilles, and 
we all wondered where and what Bernhard’s subsequent 
career had been. After this Antoine told us of another 
hilltop from which in bitterness of spirit he had gazed 
upon the distant minarets and domes of Jerusalem, 
and had turned away to walk into the very jaws of sla- 
very comforted and strengthened by a vision sent from 
the Lord. 

“ Thus it may be when we reach the heavenly heights,” 
said he. “ We may look down upon the long way we 
have traveled, appearing from that elevation but a span’s 
length, and forward over the endless future pathway of 
delight traced out along a landscape whose beauties eye 
hath not seen nor man’s heart conceived. I marvel 
much,” he continued, “that of that country it should 
be written, ‘ There is no more sea.’ Only behold that 
glory ! Surely there is a grand foreshadowing of the 
heavenly gates.” 


320 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


As we looked the setting sun sank into the water, 
covering the whole surface of the sea with a flood of 
gold. Bars of burning light crossed the horizon, which 
might well be taken for the portals of that better land. 
Indescribable tints of purple, crimson, green and orange 
shot up far above the zenith, reflected in a thousand 
shades upon the billowy clouds, and the whole area 
before us seemed aflame, all except that one little om- 
inous speck of black cloud. 

“ Who knows what thin veil of mist may hide those 
portals from us, or how soon the golden gates may swing 
back upon their hinges to let us through ?” said I. 

“ It will be a glorious entrance, let it be never so soon,” 
said Antoine. “ Only remember the dream, Bertholde, 
and enter thou not alone. Thou hast promised to wait 
for me.” 

But Antoine was not wont to be visionary ; he lived 
in the present, or the near future with its glorious pos- 
sibilities of good ; a material life permeated with the 
spiritual, even as the Godhead dwelt bodily in the Son 
of man, was his ideal ; courage, hope and enthusiasm, 
not sentimentality, were his characteristics; and as the 
light began to fade into the soberer tints of the summer 
night he caught up Nannette in his arms, saying, 

“ Come, little one ; thou art too young for star-gaz- 
ing. Let us seek the prosaic necessities of supper and 
bed, not forgetting to thank the Father above, who for 
his dear Son’s sake has given us so many good and 
beautiful things richly to enjoy.” 

And thus in the twilight shadows we descended the 
green slope of the hill, never again to stand together on 
an earthly mountain-top — never again. 


THE OLD PRIEST’S TALE . 


321 


Morning brought into our little harbor a strange ves- 
sel. She was larger than were the fishing-boats which 
usually visited us — so large that it was impossible for 
her to reach the shore ; but there was sent forth a small 
shallop in which was a man who, as soon as his voice 
could be heard, demanded permission for Christians in 
distress to land upon our island. When was such a plea 
proffered to our colony in vain ? The desired permis- 
sion was given. Load after load of sick and dying 
wretches were laid upon the sward. Kind hands im- 
pelled by loving hearts tended them ; gentle words of 
prayer and hope were whispered in their ears, and the 
fatal seeds were sown before any one thought of the ter- 
rible harvest of the pestilence. 

We found that the ship had come from the Levant, 
that the disease had developed itself on board imme- 
diately after sailing,, its ravages fearfully increased by 
the close proximity of so many human beings packed 
closely together on deck and in the hold. Italy had 
closed port after port against the ill-fated crew, who, 
not daring to seek succor among the Moors, as a last 
hope sought refuge with us, and found it at a fearful 
cost to those who befriended them. 

I may not describe the weeks that followed. Death 
was upon the air — death the burden of every thought. 
Nearly every one of the passengers and crew of the 
plague-ship died, and the contagion soon found its way 
into the tents and cottages of our colony. Fever and 
delirium usually ended in a few hours with stupor and 
death, but in lucid intervals many noble examples of 
patience under suffering were shown, many precious 
testimonies given of the power of the Lord to com- 
21 


322 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


fort and sustain and bring off “ more than conqueror ” 
in the hour of death. 

Antoine and Bertholde were indefatigable in doing 
the little that could be done for the alleviation of such 
sufferings; they would not even spare Nannette, and 
send her, as I counseled, away from the island. 

“ The God of heaven gave up the Son of his love 
for me ; shall I withhold one thing which I deem pre- 
cious when he calls for its service ?” said Antoine. 
“ Hath not he left me an example that I should fol- 
low in his steps ?” 

So the end came all too soon. It was not many days 
before Nannette and I were called upon to minister to 
Antoine and Bertholde, both stricken with the pesti- 
lence on the same day, both so fearfully ill as from the 
first to leave no hope for recovery. Bertholde was 
unconscious from the beginning. It seemed as though 
a very few hours would end all that remained of her 
bright, full life, and I dreaded to witness the desolation 
of Antoine, of whose recovery I had at that time some 
hope ; but he was calm and unruffled. 

“ She will not enter the gates without me,” he said, 
in answer to the true statement of my opinion of her 
condition which he compelled me to give him. “She 
has promised, and Bertholde de Tourville was never 
known to break her word. She will wait for Antoine 
without the gates.” 

Thy son loaded me with messages of love for thee, 
dear lady, and bade me say to thee that his chief regret 
lay in the thought of not having been a better son to 
thee. 

“ I had thought,” he said, “ one day to see her fold 


THE OLD PRIEST'S TALE. 


323 


my Bertholde to her motherly breast and to lay my 
Nannette in her arms as an offering in place of the 
bright little sister whom I lured away from her home 
and then could not guard safely from the perils of the 
way. Father — the dearest father I have ever known — 
do thou oarry thy grandchild to Rouen and tell the dear 
old mother she is all that remains of her share in the 
Children’s Crusade.” 

He spoke again at intervals, giving directions concern- 
ing the survivors on the island, begging me to continue 
the good work we had so long carried on together, and 
conversed about all that he had intended to do for the 
cause of Christ. 

“ That dream is over now,” he said, “ but the Lord 
can safely be trusted to take care of his own Church. 
The day will yet come when it shall stand forth ‘ bright 
as the sun, fair as the moon and terrible as an army 
with banners’ — when his bride, even in his pure sun- 
light, will appear 1 without spot or wrinkle or any such 
thing.’ I have finished my work — the work he has 
given me to do. There are no plans but his ; the only 
life-motto of a crusader is ‘ Deus vultJ Repeat it to 
me, father ; it will soothe the throbbing of my head 
and I repeated, as well as my trembling tongue would 
allow : 

“‘God, he wills' it!’ Sword and banner 
At his bidding forward go: 

Shout and song and glad hosanna 
Sound defiance to the foe. 

Since he wills it, ah ! what skills it 
Any other aim to know? 

“ ‘ God, he wills it !’ Gladly leaving 

Home and friends, we march to thee. 


324 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


Zion, rank on rank upheaving, 

Over land and through the sea, 

Tomb most holy, bending lowly, 

Thy defenders sworn are we. 

“‘God, he wills it!’ Cross of sorrow, 

Closely pressed to heart and brow, 

Strength of flesh and heart we borrow 
From thy solemn shadow now. 

Flesh may fail us, men assail us: 

Fortress, shield and brand art thou. 

“ ‘ God, he wills it !’ Lo ! the portal 
Of that grave which sinners fear 
Glows with light serene, immortal, 

When he wills its entrance near. 

Will eternal, love supernal, 

Bobs his fiat of all fear. 

“ ‘ God, he wills it !’ This the story 
Spoken at creation’s dawn, 

This the seraphs’ song of glory 

When the Prince of peace was born, 

Bow before it, now adore it — 

Will which love hath crowned with thorn. 

“ ‘ God, he wills it !’ Free salvation, 

Gates of pearl, he opens wide ; 

Boom he makes for every nation 
On the star-paved courts inside. 

Will of Jesus, will to please us, 

Will of Christ once crucified !” 

I have repeated the whole hymn to thee dear lady, 
because, as it was the last to which Antoine listened, 
so it was the one out of all those sung by the little cru- 
saders which as a boy he had most loved to sing. Before 
I had finished, his eyelids closed, and I feared the deadly 
stupor was stealing upon him, but at the last he said, 


THE OLD PRIEST’S TALE. 


325 


a Once crucified — crucified for me ! Nothing else but 
the cross — nothing else ! ‘ Inside 9 ! Yes, we shall both 

soon be inside the pearly gates. The New Jerusalem is 
better than the old, for the Lamb is the light thereof.” 

Not another word was spoken. In silence I watched 
the two insensible forms through the night, and by day- 
break both had passed within the gates of morning, and 
the sun which shall have no setting had arisen upon 
them. So nearly together they went that I could not 
say which first ceased the labored breathing; only this 
I am sure of: if it was Bertholde, she waited for An- 
toine “ outside the gates.” 

I have little else to tell. God vouchsafed me strength 
to perform the last rites over the marble forms of the 
dear children which his loving-kindness had sent to 
brighten my lonely life. I laid them side by side 
among the gathered bones of their little companions, 
parted from them so long ago, as it had seemed — only 
yesterday, such a moment as it looked to-day. Then 
I too was seized with the pestilence, and oblivion for 
a time kindly took me away from my great sorrow. 
But I did not die. How could I while Antoine’s last 
charge remained unfulfilled ? My first awaking to con- 
sciousness showed me a pair of earnestly anxious dark 
eyes bending over me, and the first sound which fell 
with any intelligence upon my ear was the agonizing 
question, 

“ Where are they — my noble papa and my beautiful 
mamanf Dear, dear Pere Ignatius, where have they 
gone away from Nannette?” 

How often she had already poured the same question 


326 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


into my insensible ears God only knows, but, seeing the 
absolute necessity of answering, I roused myself and 
said, 

“To heaven, dearest, where the dear Lord Jesus and 
the holy angels are.” 

“And art thou going too?” she queried. “ Will Nan- 
nette stay in the Isle of Falcons all alone ?” 

“ Not yet, I think, little one, but some day we will 
both go and see them again, and they will be more beau- 
tiful than ever.” 

Thus, when I had gained sufficient strength to leave 
the island and set forth on our homeward journey, I 
believe the little one thought that we were on our way 
to heaven to see her papa and her mamma. 

I had greatly overestimated my strength, and my re- 
sources also ; for when I had paid the shipmaster who 
transported us from the island of Sardinia to Marseilles 
his passage-money, I found that so little of the generous 
sultan’s gold was left as to compel us to take our long 
journey through France on foot. This my scarcely- 
recovered vigor and Nannette’s unaccustomed little feet 
could hardly stand ; so that, what with my frequent 
sicknesses and the necessity for allowing her often to 
stop and rest, we were months upon our tedious way, 
and ye all know the condition in which I arrived at 
Rouen. 

But the good Lord, who hath done much for me and 
those so dear to me, would not suffer me to fall by the 
wayside until I had delivered up my sacred trust, and 
he inclined you all to care so tenderly for the poor old 
man that he is again raised up to perform the last duty 
devolving upon him. I have but one earthly desire 


THE OLD PRIEST’S TALE. 


327 


left ; and if God grants it to me, I will lie down be- 
side my children saying gladly, 

“ Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace.” 

There is a little neglected grave in the ancient church- 
yard of Vienne. I would rifle that of its sacred con- 
tents and carry them to lay them by the side of their 
sainted brother and sister in San Pietro, and then I 
would build there a church which shall stand through 
all coming ages as a monument of the unfortunate chil- 
dren of the crusade. Such a church will be a blessing 
to the little island, and those coming from afar to visit 
it may learn, as they ponder the story of the crusade 
of the children, that true cross-bearing is in the heart — 
that it is not “the will of God” that infidels perish at 
the point of sword and lance, but rather that they 
should be led unto him, and thus find everlasting life ; 
that it is not in the crumbling stones of a ruined city 
the Lord of the New Jerusalem takes delight, but in 
the living temple rising evermore to fairer proportions 
as the circling ages roll away, whose polished stones are 
loving and obedient hearts. Here men may learn that 
an empty sepulchre, hallowed as its associations may be, 
is not worth centuries of contention and oceans of blood, 
that life, not death, is the aim of the religion of Jesus, 
since “ Christ, being risen from the dead, dieth no more,” 
and that the brightest crown of glory is to be won, not 
amid the din of battle or the shouts of victory, but 
in childlike and faithful obedience to the will of 
God. 


CHRONICLE III. 

CONCLUSION. 


“So the multitude goes like the flowers or the weed 
That withers away to let others succeed; 

So the multitude comes, even those we behold, 

To repeat every tale that has often been told.” 


Knox. 


NCE more the ancieut walls of the underground 



^ chapel of St. Gervaise echoed to the solemn sound 
of thanksgiving and prayer. The summer sunshine lay 
bright on hill and plain. Winter storms and spring 
rains had restored again the beauty and verdure of 
nature ; the pestilence was over ; wounds in stricken 
homes began to heal ; life took up its old routine of 
mingled labor and rest, sorrow and joy, its swift current 
closing over the little ripples made by the Children’s 
Crusade. 

The chapel-service resembled this life in that it was 
a mixed one — a solemn requiem for the repose of the 
young slumberers in San Pietro, a glad thanksgiving 
for their blessed deaths in hope of a glorious immor- 
tality, an eternal farewell of what had long been home 
to all the parties concerned, and fervent prayers for the 
blessing of Heaven upon the enterprise to which Father 
Ignatius had devoted his remaining years. On the mor- 


328 


CONCLUSION. 


329 


row he was to set forth accompanied by a young novice 
of St. Gervaise on a tour to the different courts of Eu- 
rope to represent to nobles and to princes the cause which 
lay so near to his heart, and to collect money for the 
building of the new church of the Innocents on the 
island of San Pietro. His hardest parting was from 
Nannette. She also on the morrow was to go forth 
from Rouen and to accompany her grandmother, who 
with Amalie, her husband and their children would 
henceforth live at Hohenseck, Count Bernhard’s castle 
on the Rhine. 

A great change had come over the old lady ; the cer- 
tainty of her son’s death was much easier to bear than 
the constantly-deferred hope of his return. She could 
not now allege this possibility as a reason for remaining 
at Rouen. 

Moreover, the little Nannette had already found a 
straight way deep into the old grandmother’s heart. 
There were two children who had gone away from her, 
and a little child coming back at their age and in their 
likeness more truly represented them than Antoine would 
have done had he returned in all the glory of his man- 
hood, a bright young hero whom she had never known. 
It was the Nannette of old times whom she tended, 
instructed and loved, and, save for the gray hairs and 
the bowed form, she was again the young mother of 
eighteen years ago. The summer storms of her life 
were over, and its autumn sunshine promised to be 
richer and fairer, if less fervid, than had been that of 
spring. So both parties bade a tearful farewell — not a 
bitter one — to Rouen, its memories and to one another. 

Pere Ignatius was very successful in his enterprise ; 


330 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


his story excited great interest, and money flowed freely 
into his hands. Pope Gregory IX. gave to the under- 
taking the sanction of his approval, with substantial 
encouragement from the papal treasury. A few parents 
whose children were still captives among the Moors or 
the Saracens feebly suggested that so much money might 
be better expended in ransoming the remnants of the lit- 
tle crusaders, but no public spirit took up the suggestion, 
and it was dropped. 

Soon a beautiful church arose on an eminence over- 
looking the little village and the sea. It is of quadran- 
gular form, with a steep roof; the entrance is to the 
west, and above the altar, at the eastern end, a win- 
dow of richly-stained glass — the gift of Count Bernhard 
of Hohenseck — tells to all visitants, in glowing colors 
and in complicated figures and tracery, the sad story of 
the Children’s Crusade. There are many visitors, for 
in the years which have followed the church’s erection 
our holy place has become quite a favorite shrine. Voy- 
agers across the treacherous Mediterranean pause here, 
solicit a blessing upon their various undertakings, leave 
an offering and pursue their way. Fishermen often owe 
to the efficacy of the intercessions offered at San Pietro 
their most successful draughts of fish, crusaders on their 
way to Palestine find here the strength which nerves 
their strong right arms for victory, and the sick and the 
suffering are every summer brought in great numbers to 
the isle of Falcons that they may seek their recovery at 
the new Innocents’ shrine. It may be that our pure, 
clear air and simple, wholesome fare materially aid in 
this desirable result ; and if so, this is as Antoine and 
Bertholde would have had it. Multitudes of children 


CONCLUSION. 


331 


are brought here to be blessed before the altar, for the 
superstitious people of Sardinia and the adjacent isles — 
nay, even those of the favored peninsula itself — believe 
that there is no such potent charm to defend their little 
ones from every possible evil as that bestowed by the 
intercession of the holy children who sleep around 
that hallowed spot. 

Beneath the altar itself lie Antoine and Bertholde — 
Saints An and Ber, as our islanders have already begun 
to call them. Close to them is the body of Nannette, 
which, with the permission of the Holy Father, P§re 
Ignatius brought here from the churchyard of Vienne. 
At the feet of the three there remains a vacant space 
wherein the father himself hopes to rest peacefully when 
his long life’s work is over; but that time we all pray 
may be very far off, for P£re Ignatius is a hale and 
hearty old man, happy even in the memory of all his 
bereavements, rejoicing and sympathizing in the lives 
of others, and constantly bringing sunshine where but 
for him darkness would long have lingered. The ap- 
pearance of his silvery locks floating beneath the tonsure 
is ever a sign for the children of the village to cluster 
around him and beg for “ one more story of the French 
children who carried the cross.” 

No such story-teller as Pere Ignatius ever lived, and 
evening after evening, not the children alone, but men 
and women from the village and our visitors from dis- 
tant climes, hang with quivering interest upon the words 
which fall from his lips. Tales of his early life among 
the Albigenses, of the cruel persecutions of the Church, 
of the noble conduct of Count Raymond of Toulouse 
in supporting and protecting his persecuted subjects ; 


332 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


descriptions of Rouen, St. Gervaise and the ancient 
chapel of St. Mello ; the uprising of the children, the 
long, wearisome march through France, the joyous em- 
barkation at Marseilles, followed by the terrible fate of 
so many deluded little ones, — these things are as famil- 
iar to the inhabitants of San Pietro as to himself. Then, 
when he is in the mood for it, follow wonderful descrip- 
tions of Orieutal magnificence and of life among the 
Saracens, reverent accounts of the crumbling walls and 
buildings of the Holy City, contrasted with that which 
can never crumble or decay, since it “ hath foundations ” 
and “ its Builder and Maker is God.” Not seldom is the 
whole narration closed by the sad, sweet story of the 
pathway from Bethlehem to Calvary, and then the dear 
old man adds, 

“But you should have heard my Antoine tell that. 
My lips are chilled and trembling with the frosts of age, 
but his were touched with a live coal from the altar 
of God, his heart was a glowing fountain of heavenly 
flame.” 

The vast amount of treasure which such multitudes 
of pilgrims constantly deposit at this popular shrine, 
added to the sum which Pope Gregory has set apart 
for the support of the twelve prebends who here cause 
the voice of praise and prayer to be continually asceud- 
ing to Heaven, enables the p&re to carry on the beneficent 
work which he and Antoine commenced upon the island. 
The unfortunate, the sorrowful, the sick, are ever wel- 
come to its shores. Escaped captives, heathen souls 
searching for the light, penitents sighing for peace of 
conscience and sinners desirous of laying their heavy 
burdens at the foot of the cross come among us from 


CONCLUSION. 


333 


time to time. The constant influx of our pilgrim- 
visitors ensures a brisk trade in coral, fish, and other 
maritime commodities by the procuring and sale of which 
our people thrive. 

Looking for the arrival of pilgrims is our chief amuse- 
ment, and last year we were gratified by a transient 
glimpse of our own blessed Louis IX. on his way to the 
crusades. The good king hath been deeply interested in 
the fate of the little children who would have lived to 
be his liege subjects had they not assumed the same cross 
which he now r wears, and, setting forth for the liberation 
of the Lord’s sacred sepulchre, trodden the painful way 
of the cross, not to the earthly, but the heavenly, Zion. 
Louis therefore knelt at their shrine, leaving upon their 
altar a gift whose munificence far exceeded any that had 
been laid there before, and promising P§re Ignatius, 
whose blessing he received on bended knee, when he 
should have taken the holy sepulchre, to do all that lay 
in his power toward ransoming the survivors of the 
little army which sailed from Genoa in 1212. 

Count Bernhard also hath come hither three several 
times from his castle in Germany. Had it been feasible, 
he would have removed his sister’s remains from their 
resting-place in Bujeieh and placed them in consecrated 
ground by the side of her little companions. But the 
almost certain death which would meet any one who 
should enter that most stubborn of infidel cities for 
such a purpose was represented to him by the fisher- 
men who frequent the port, and, like a prudent German, 
considering the responsibilities which rest upon him, he 
forbore. He speaks of the mother as passing a peace- 
fully happy old age, of Amalie as developing every day 


334 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


more and more into the loving and beloved “ house- 
mother ” which is the German’s highest ideal of a wo- 
man, of his still-increasing flock, and of Nannette as 
budding into a woman whose loveliness is the talk of 
court and camp. She is, he says, the theme for toast, the 
inspiration for joust, and yet simple, loving and d&voue 
as when, surrounded by the winds and the waves of the 
Mediterranean, her father and mother first told her of 
Jesus. Proceedings which have recently been instituted 
will, he thinks, eventuate in the restoration of the title 
and the estates of Tourville, confiscated to the Crown 
during Bertholde’s long absence, and then the hand of 
Antoine’s Nannette will be worthy the quest of noblesse , 
or of royalty itself. 

There is among the penitents who dwell upon our 
island a man who excites much interest. For years he 
lived among us closely shrouded in the dress of a monk, 
making friends with none, living a life of sighs and soli- 
tude. No one save the fisherman who brought him knew 
whence he came, and, well paid for keeping his secret, he 
was too honorable to reveal it. That he was a Moham- 
medan was certain from his complexion and accent, and 
yet his French was pure and he spoke it as though the 
acquiring of it had been a work of love. A desire to 
learn the Christian faith was the reason which he gave 
for joining us, and, one of the prebends having carefully 
instructed him, in due time he was received in holy bap- 
tism. He gave his heathen name as Alfreddin, which, 
according to custom, was changed to that of some saint, 
“ Ignatius” being his choice. He continued exemplary 
in his Christian duties, and, though by no means an old 
man, seemed to have no object in life save to fit himself 


CONCLUSION. 


335 


for its close. At last, during some temporary illness, P&re 
Ignatius gained the confidence of this silent stranger, and 
from what he felt at liberty to reveal we learned that 
he was the Moorish emir from whom Antoine’s oppor- 
tune appearance had delivered Bertholde ; that, having 
loved 'her better than all else — fortune, position and 
reputation — he had abandoned all and come to learn her 
religion, that the same heaven might be open to receive 
him, and that he might at least see her again at the last. 
They became great friends, this happy old priest and the 
stricken lover, and patiently and gently the one grad- 
ually drew the other into that “ perfect peace ” which 
“remaineth for the people of God.” I see them now 
as they walk together on the beach, the white head 
bowed with the weight and glory of many years, the 
dark one, just sprinkled with silver, bending with rever- 
ence and chastened sorrow. I cannot catch their words, 
but I know that they are talking of Bertholde and of 
heaven, for I see the gesture with which one points to 
the altar-tomb and the other to the blue vault above it. 
They will both reach that ere long, but by what differ- 
ent windings the pathway of the cross leads different cru- 
saders to the resurrection glories of the holy sepulchre ! 

For me, fitienne du Mont — the orphan novice whom 
Pere Ignatius brought hither from the priory of St. 
Gervaise, and who at his command have compiled these 
chronicles and diaries into one connected history — I can 
ask no happier life than the busy benevolence of San 
Pietro, to work all day for the bodies and the souls of 
men, to kneel at vespers, when the day’s work is over, in 
the hallowed church of the Innocents, and, sitting on the 
Falcon’s Nest, as I am now, to contrast the short pain- 


336 


THE FATE OF THE INNOCENTS. 


ful life of the little crusaders with the everlasting glories 
of the holy city into which they so soon entered. 

As the blue waves of the Mediterranean dash their 
white foam over the many-colored marbles at my feet, 
as the cool sea-breeze dies away in the golden stillness 
which precedes the sunset, as the stars, one by one, 
come out and look on San Pietro as calmly and sol- 
emnly as they have done during the long ages before 
Antoine and Bertholde’s enthusiasm and love shot like 
a meteor across their horizon, — I think, 

“ So will it be in the ages yet to come. The interests, 
the enthusiasms, which now convulse the world will pass 
away and be but recorded points in history. New life, 
new interests, will take their places, each in its turn to 
sink into oblivion. But there will always be crusaders. 
The forms in which evil manifests itself will be different, 
the visible goals toward which cross-bearing footsteps 
are directed may change, but the battles of the cross 
against oppression, infidelity and sin will have to be 
fought in all ages, by all races, to the end of time. 
Happy they who in disappointment and defeat, in lone- 
liness and captivity, learn, as did Antoine, that the ex- 
altation of Christ, not of the material things which 
manifest him, is the crusader’s true object, and that the 
Jerusalem toward which the foot of every enrolled pil- 
grim is tending lies across the shoreless ocean, above the 
inaccessible mountain where He sitteth at the right hand 
of God !” 


THE END. 















































































































* 

. 

, 

; 

' - / 






• , r / r .. ij 

w -;;< V ,r. .• • V A K»- 

I 

'• " y - , •‘V--' '.V • .y . > ./ ) • ’ ' . . V-7 

. 

v ' - A ' \ 

'■ 

- - X 

* 




! ^ ' 4 , * 


/ 

V 




h . 


/ 

l : r 




V 


r . ‘ A * 


- 

•-, • [l ‘ 




• t ,- > 

- 

** 

■*,*'* > '— i • 


























• ' 

> ; • ') .• '■ ' • . ’ ' • y 1 - ,. - 

■ - ' :* s •* ■’ ■■"."■> 

• • - ' - :- % - .■■<■■, >.'•■•• 

. 

V 

' ' / • / . , » • - . ■ • - , > ■ 






fW 






’ V' t /< V ' 


i Ti'Y.'. • *>,■*. CJ *% ' - r - * ;■ ■ . **'*-,* i 7 ► « >- < fi y-v^iOii 

- 

‘ 

. 

• s* . ’ / — ■ ■ v 

■ 

*X ** \ J,! A V 

- 

1 

> • 

. , •• • • < 

P o 








** r • • •' 4 • 

v V 

■ 

•. • ••" v 




















/ " 


















V / 1 

’ 

£ ^ 


S?/ 

'« ■ • X 

■7 . -f . . ' 

- ' 




, , *& 












# '' ‘\*p 


















- 










* ,» 




r ' * 

. i"' 






\ i 
















A 








» X 












‘Jlj* >&» 






* t 


"r* /*» 




b • 




.»/ .i 




Ira 




/ 

A 


v, rt^v'L'H v 

’>Vv-/ ’yv. , Sh^'‘ i i 'v ' 

T w . v. 

y- A ./ >> 


■ < r." 1 . 


Pf 




/ 



• i /*? n 










f* 


• . 'v 




A 










- 

• * ? / ^.s s » 

t * f ' > ^ /l 

- ' ' - 

} 1 $ 

■ : ■ ■ . ■ « i 

' • ' y .V ' / ' 












'• Vi 4 - v-,;; ^ 

' i ■ • i 




* : * 


. ' » 




V./. V 








